


You Save Me

by riversfire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bottom Castiel, Canon-Typical Violence, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Time, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Implied Ruby/Sam Winchester, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Minor Castiel/Crowley (Supernatural), Omega Castiel, Sharing a Bed, Top Dean, Virgin Castiel, all the tropes but in miniature version, some use of the bitch word as an omega slur, that thing where one of em patches up the other's wound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-02 17:56:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11514501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riversfire/pseuds/riversfire
Summary: All Dean Winchester has ever known is the violence of the Chicago streets and the manipulations of the local mafioso. But when an accidental dive into the river transports him to another world, he finds himself embroiled in an ancient medieval war. Joining Crowley, King of Hell’s army is the last thing he wants to do, but he can’t leave their beautiful captive, Castiel, imprisoned and alone.Castiel won’t agree to Crowley’s insulting offer of marriage—especially when he knows that he’ll kill him as soon as he’s provided him a child to unite their kingdoms. But he won’t abandon his family and risk Crowley’s rage. Can Dean, this mysterious warrior from beyond the veil, be the Righteous Man that will lay this conflict to rest?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was for the 2017 destiel harlequin challenge. This is not your mother’s ABO…. It’s your grandma’s. It’s kinda tame. Also, Cas is omega but he has some... designation dysphoria... and Dean is not anything. FYI.
> 
> This was not beta'd. Actually it was barely even edited. I ran out of time. Hopefully there aren't too many mistakes, but if there are... it's my fault.

Dean Winchester was no idiot. A grunt, maybe, but not an idiot. So when he saw a coupla guys slinking towards him under the neon light of the Roadhouse bar, he stamped his cigarette out and started to run. (He wasn't no arsonist, neither). 

What Dean WAS was a fast runner. Made for sprinting. Lithe, young, a spring in his step he probably had no right to. But that night, he wasn't fast enough. He made a bad choice, he can admit that. Not in getting on the bad side of some mafia business protecting his brother's life, no, that he'd do again in a heartbeat. He made a bad choice when he hightailed it straight onto the bridge. Sure, the pedestrian walkway put a metal partition between him and the cars whizzing by and assured it would be a foot race instead of a crap shoot of letting himself get run down by an expensive shiny mob car. (Those cars were shit compared to his '67 chevy, and he wasn't about to be hamburger roadkill on the front bumper of some highfalutin Rolls Royce.) But going for the bridge meant only one way out. So when they cut him off before he even made it halfway across, he had nowhere left to run. 

"Nowhere to run, kid," the tallest man drawled as he slunk closer, his thin hair rustling on the breeze that caught the sewage scent of the river and threw it back in Dean's face. "Nowhere to hide."

Dean recognized the voice even before the man stepped out of the shadow and into the light, throwing his harsh features into sharp relief. Alistair. There was no mistaking that voice, sweet and rough, a voice that sticks to you like leather in summer but makes your blood run cold. Alistair and his cronies smiled and Dean's eyes widened momentarily in time with Alistair's thin lips. 

And then a car's headlights blazed over the scene and Dean vaulted over the side of the bridge, smirking as the men scrambled after him. 

Sure they'd probably be on him the second he surfaced and if they didn't he'd still have to shower three times just to get the stink off him, but he figured he'd rather die than live to see if Alistair's reputation for torture was true. 

Only he didn't die. And he didn't surface. 

Not in Chicago, anyway. 

…

Dean woke up to something poking his face. He winked an eye open against the blinding light, ready with an angry quip at his bitch of a brother for waking him up. 

But he realized belatedly that his brother hadn't slept in the same building as him for months and that he was not even in a building but rather lying face down in dew-wet grass and stinking mud with a spear in his face. A literal spear. The quip died in his throat and came out a choked cough. He grasped for some bravado. 

“Is that a spear in your hand, or are you just happy to see me,” he said, raising his hands and getting his knees under the weight of his body, tensed for a fight. 

He raised his chin, trying open his eyes against the bright sunlight to see his silent assailant. 

A loud voice suddenly sounded behind him and he flinched. “By order of the King of Hell,” the voice rang out, “state your name and purpose.”

Dean spread his knees for balance and craned his neck to address the person. He was surprised to see what looked like leather armor and a sword held out towards him. He resisted the urge to touch it to test its sharpness. It looked sharp but... it also looked like a sword and that was… not a thing that seemed likely in Chicago. 

Dean forced out a laugh. “I'm sorry, is this like a LARPing thing, cuz I don't really do pretend. Now, role play..." he smirked and raised his eyebrow suggestively. "That I can get behind.”

“By order of King Crowley of the Great White Throne,” the man in leather continued loudly, “state your name and purpose or we will be forced to bring you before His Majesty for questioning.”

Dean stood and held out his hands to be tied. “Why don’t you do that,” he said with a scoff.

…

Dean followed the two men gamely, looking around as he let the silent spear-carrier tug him by the arm into a thicket of trees. What the hell? Alistair could have brought him out into the boonies of Illinois, but that didn't explain Medieval Funtime Land. And it didn't look like any part of Illinois he'd ever been to. Too many trees, for one. Not enough shitty highways and rundown machinery for another.

He followed along through the forest, stumbling over tree roots and brush in his black biker boots. He kept his eyes down for the most part, eying the unfamiliar plants and carefully stomping on any that dared to get in his way. Although he was sure he was in for some torture the moment they stopped walking, he took some time to lament the state of his jeans. They were mostly dry now, still damp in the ass with long swathes of mud caked up the sides. And they stunk. God they stunk. They reeked of sewage and wet denim and whatever diseases the river carried. It was a long-ass walk, and after a while Dean began to seriously consider what diseases might be causing this vivid, drawn-out hallucination. More likely it was drugs, he settled on. He wouldn't put it past Alistair to play with his food. Just as Dean began to go move through the catalogue of hallucinogenic drugs in his head, they came upon a clearing. 

"Crap," he breathed, as the sight unfolded before him, canvas tents and soldiers moving between them, clad in armor and carrying weapons. He heard the sounds of horses and his eyes widened. 

"Well Toto, he said, nudging the closer guard with an elbow and throwing him a grin. "We're not in Kansas anymore."

The guard grabbed him by the rope and lurched him forward, toward the tents. Dean shook his head and followed. 

…

Dean stood outside a tent with the silent guard while the other stepped inside. He could hear whispering and strained to listen. One voice was higher. A woman, maybe? He caught a few words. "I don't knows" and once, an emphatic "he stinks!" Dean grinned at that, and settled in to wait for whatever plans these motherfuckers were making for him. Moments later the guard emerged and pulled him back towards the causeway between the rows of tents. 

“You must bathe before the King will see you,” he said, loudly. Man, this guy had no sense of voice modulation. “If you cannot explain yourself to His Majesty, you will see the consequences.”

"Right," Dean said. "Of course." He sighed, and let them lead him through the camp. When they seemed to be approaching the edge of the camp, Dean stopped suddenly. “Hold on, where exactly are we going?” he asked.

The loud guard sighed and tugged at the rope, his sword swinging slightly on his hip. “To the castle,” he huffed. “The General sent a messenger ahead.” 

“So, it’s like, a shit ton more walking,” Dean said caustically. His lips drew into a pout, pulling dimples out of his exasperated cheeks.

“…yes,” the guard replied. He pointed to the horizon, where Dean could just make out what looked like a large castle. A real fucking castle.

“God I hope this guy has never seen Game of Thrones,” Dean said, beginning to walk again.  
…  
When they got to the castle, the gate was already up and waiting for them. Dean tried to keep his eye on all the knights and servants milling about, but he kept glancing up at the large stone towers and turrets. The castle was behind a big crenellated wall. No moat, though, Dean noted.

The guards led Dean inside with no problems—just a few people who seemed to be staring open-mouthed at Dean in his stained jeans and black t-shirt. The entrance hall was not as impressive as Dean was expecting. It was dark and gloomy and just big enough to accommodate multiple hallways shooting off in different directions. The guards pulled him towards one off to one side.

When they finally stopped at a door, Dean was relieved. Until they opened it and steam billowed out. It was a bath room. Filled with baths. Crap.

Dean followed them in and tried to look around briefly through the steam. It looked like two big pools built into the ground and some smaller baths behind. He turned back to the guards with his eyebrows raised.

“Strip and get in,” the guard with the sword commanded with a slight smile as he untied the ropes binding Dean’s hands. “Don’t worry, we’ll have new clothes brought for you.”

Dean shot the guards a lewd look and pulled his t-shirt over his head. "You know, back home I could get paid for this show," he said, unbuckling his belt and briefly tossing it hand to hand, weighing the wisdom of using it as a weapon and escaping. But, two on one was not great odds when the two had spears and a sword. Besides, where was he going to go? And he really did stink. He dropped the belt and undid his fly, stepping out of his stiff jeans and boxer briefs and throwing them in the direction of the guards. He slipped quickly under the water of the nearest pool and held in a sigh at the warmth and comfort of the clean pool after his long walk in the sun. A servant materialized and stooped to pick up his clothes, leaving brown soap and a rough cloth in their place at the side of the bath as he disappeared again. The guards backed towards the wall and thankfully left him to it. Dean picked up the soap and smelled it. It didn't really smell like anything to him. He figured that if they were going to poison him, they wouldn't do it with soap. He worked it into a lather on his wet skin, relishing the sight of the dirt and grime from the river washing away. 

After a while, he decided to bite the bullet and submerge his head. He backed nonchalantly to the far side of the pool, near the barrier between his pool and the second and as far away from the guards as he could get. They didn’t seem too interested in him, but he wasn’t about to take the chance. He took a deep breath and sunk down, rubbing his face roughly. He quickly ran his hands through his hair and then raised his head again, squeezing his eyes shut as the water streamed back into the pool. When he opened his eyes again, it was to see a pair of striking blue eyes staring back at him from the second pool.

"Shit," he said, lurching back in surprise. 

Blue eyes just stared. Dean stared back, confused and caught off-guard.

"I apologize for frightening you," blue eyes said. He had a handsome face and dark hair that stuck up every which way and dripped water lazily onto his face and tanned shoulders. There was something ethereal about him. Everyone Dean had seen here so far had been average, unremarkable. But not this guy. This guy was beautiful. Dean could appreciate a handsome man, but this guy was something else. Dean stared. The man stared back. One of the guards coughed uncomfortably. 

"I apologize, your grace," the guard said. "We didn't realize you were in here."

"I should have said something before..." blue eyes said, lowering his eyes briefly. He looked back up at Dean and seemed to move closer. "You're just so... interesting,” he said “…I forgot my manners."

Dean grunted in acknowledgement, his eyes wide.

"That's a lie," the man said seriously. "I chose to ignore them. That was wrong. I'm sorry."

"Uh just.. don't do it again," Dean said, grinning uncomfortably. 

"I won't," the man promised, backing away slowly through the water. He motioned and a large dark-skinned man that Dean also hadn't noticed emerged out of the steam on the far side of the room with a towel.

Blue eyes rose to his full height and ascended the steps on the other side of the pool. The water streamed down his back and left shining tracks on his well-defined thighs. Dean did not avert his eyes. It was only fair.

"Thank you, Uriel," blue eyes said as the larger man wrapped him in the towel. Dean's eyes snapped to Uriel, who was watching him with distrustful eyes and a smirk. Dean sent him a mirthless smile and a short wave. 

When they had left the room, Dean turned to the guards. "Can we get out of here, or what," he snapped.

A servant appeared with a towel and a change of clothes. Dean stalked out of the pool, grabbed the towel and roughly dried off. He dropped the towel on the stone floor, shoved his legs through the pants, pulled the plain linen shirt over his head, and jammed his feet back into his dirty black biker boots. "What now," he said, looking between the guards with a surly expression. 

...

 

After the guards tied Dean's wrists together again with same old thin rope, they led him into a hallway to wait. Apparently, it was time to meet the king. Dean made it through Stairway to Heaven three times singing under his breath before he was ushered into a throne room. The room was dank and dark and someone had clearly recently attempted to liven it up with golden statues and ornate paintings that felt jarringly out of place against the old stone walls. There were more guards in this room, stationed at the sides of the door he just came through and at intervals around the room as well.

The two guards at his elbows pushed him into the center of the room. Once he was settled, a door on the far wall opened and a dark and slightly corpulent man clad in a black cape swept into the room. A voice behind him rang out. “All hail His Excellency, King Crowley, Ruler of the Hordes of Hell, King of the Crossroads, Conqueror of the Pit, and Sovereign of the Great White Throne.” 

"All Hail!" A small crowd of onlookers gathered at the sides of the room repeated as the King lowered himself onto the throne and cast his eyes in Dean's direction.

Dean swallowed, noting the King's dark hair and receding hairline and then locking onto the King's gaze. Dean noticed something there, a sort of shifty dissatisfaction. 

The King continued to stare.

A guard behind Dean stomped his spear on the ground once. "Bow before the King," the guard said.

Dean raised his bound hands in a gesture of surrender. "My bad," he said, inclining his head and touching one knee to the ground in wary genuflection. 

"You may rise," the King said. His voice was low and dark.

Dean rose and waited.

“Well,” King Crowley said, his voice titling up in a question as he addressed the guards still standing within arm’s reach of Dean's loosely bound wrists. He seemed to be waiting for them to explain.

“We found this man just to the North in the Valley of Hunnam, asleep next to the river. We asked him his name and purpose and he refused to answer so we brought him in. He does not seem to be local...” The guard trailed off in uncertainty.

"No, he does not," the king agreed. "Alright, let's give it another go, shall we?" He turned to Dean. "Give us your name, love, and we won't have to treat you so poorly anymore."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Dean Winchester," he said.

"Dean Winchester," the king repeated. "And what was your purpose in the Valley of Hunnam?" He pressed sweetly.

"I didn't have one," Dean said. "I was just running from..." he stopped himself. "And I ended up here." 

"I see," the king said, nodding. "And where are you from?"

"Uh, Chicago," Dean replied.

The King turned in his throne and looked at someone to his left with a question in his eyes. Dean couldn't see the person or hear the answer, but the king was evidently satisfied and turned back to Dean. 

"Is that one of the neutral territories?" He asked.

"Look, I'm not your enemy," Dean said quickly.

"Ah, I'm afraid that's not for you to decide," King Crowley said. "See, I can only trust you as far as I can smell you. And right now, I can't smell you at all."

Dean jutted his chin out in confusion. 

"What designation are you?" The king said, slightly louder now. 

"Excuse me?" Dean asked.

The King continued. "What scent-blocker do you use, it's incredibly effective."

"Um, look, I don't know what you mean," Dean said, shrugging uncomfortably.

"Don't play coy with me, boy," the king growled. "If I wanted you I'd have you no matter your designation."

Dean took a surprised step back. "Look, there's no need to get like that, man, I just don't know what you're talking about," he said.

"Are you aware that you have no scent?" The king pressed.

"Huh?" Dean scoffed. "I mean, am I supposed to be apologizing for not smelling bad? I thought that was the entire point of taking a bath before meeting you, your highness." He took his frustration out on the style, letting his voice slip into a mocking lilt.

"My god, this one is difficult," Crowley said, addressing the small crowd with a threatening smile. 

The crowd tittered.

Dean was nonplussed. 

King Crowley waved his hand lazily and continued. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he said. "I'm an alpha, as you probably can tell. I don't feel the need to imbibe concoctions to block it, so that lovely spicy scent you smell all over the castle is me. Now your turn."

"I don't have a designation," Dean said, shaking his head and wrinkling his brow in a surprisingly earnest gesture. He heard more titters from the crowd.

"You don't have a designation," Crowley repeated.

"No," Dean repeated emphatically.

"Well, that's a new one," Crowley said with a disbelieving chuckle. "I guess I'll just have to ask the doctor." Crowley snapped his fingers with threatening finality.

Before a guard could comply with the order, a figure stepped out of the shadows to the left of the throne. 

"There's no need for that, your highness." The low voice was sure and respectful and Dean's eyes snapped to the speaker. He saw a familiar shock of unruly dark hair.

Crowley held a hand up to signal the guard to wait. "And why is that, Castiel?" He asked.

Castiel's stunning blue eyes hit Dean like ice. "Because he's telling the truth."

The crowd didn't bother to hold back their conversations this time. Crowley had to yell to quiet them down.

Once the crowd had been threatened into silence, Crowley addressed Castiel. Dean was briefly concerned for Castiel's safety, but the King seemed more curious than angry. "He's unpresented?" He asked.

Castiel paused. "He is... not of this world," Castiel replied quietly. "He does not have a designation."

...

 

After that revelation, the crowd erupted in conversation. Crowley and blue eyes (Castiel, Dean thought to himself) were having a whispered conversation while Dean looked around, unsure what to do. His guards had each grabbed onto an arm when the crowd started to get unruly, and seemed to be waiting on a cue to drag him away. Dean watched Castiel whisper calmly to the king. Crowley's face broke into a sly smile as he laid his hand intimately on Castiel's shoulder. Dean's stomach sank. In his short time here he could already tell that anything that put a smile on Crowley’s face would surely put a frown on his. He waited with trepidation.

At a signal from the king, the guards along the walls began to usher the small crowd out the door behind Dean. The guards hanging onto Dean's arms pushed him forward towards the throne, where they continued to hold him until the room was empty of bystanders. When they let go, Dean's skin felt cold. Crowley's dark eyes glinted.

"Castiel here tells me you're not a threat," Crowley said, smiling pleasantly. "I’d very much like that to be true. I've decided to give you the benefit of the doubt." He gestured in a way that would have seemed kindly coming from any other person. Coming from Crowley, it seemed nothing less than threatening. So somehow, Dean didn't feel relieved. Even as the guard untied the ropes from his wrist he felt a sense of foreboding.

"Dean, why don't you come with me," Crowley said, standing. He came only just past Dean's shoulder, but he carried himself with the air of someone with incredible power. Dean shrugged and made to follow. Castiel stood standing to the side of the throne, watching Dean curiously until Crowley turned back and addressed him. "Castiel, why don't you come as well," he said.

"Yes, my king," Castiel replied, sweeping his royal blue cape behind him as he followed.

Dean avoided Castiel's gaze as they followed the king together, but he could feel Castiel’s eyes on his back as he went. Crowley led them silently out of the throne room and up a flight of stairs. They entered another room, this one considerably warmer and lit with glowing lamps along the walls. In the center was a large map table, and a large shelf of books dominated one wall. Chairs littered the room.

"Please, have a seat," Crowley said as he made his way to a table of what looked like wine. Dean wasn't sure if Crowley was addressing him or Castiel, but they both sat immediately in the chairs closest to each of them. They ended up facing each other over the long table. Crowley busied himself pouring glasses for the three of them and Dean busied himself looking everywhere but at the man sitting across from him. When Crowley returned, he handed them each a glass and sat at the head of the table.

"So Dean," he said. "Where are you really from?"

"Chicago," Dean repeated.

"And where is Chicago?" Crowley pressed.

"Uh, Illinois. In the United States. On planet Earth."

"This is also a version of Earth," Castiel explained. "A different one from yours, obviously."

Dean frowned. "So, bizarro earth, right," Dean said after a while, sighing. "Before you ask, I don't know how I got here. I don't know who you are. I don't know what it means to be an alpha or whatever it was."

Crowley looked at him intently, "No, you wouldn't, would you." He shared a look with Castiel. Castiel gave a slight nod.

Crowley sighed. "Dean, I understand this may be a lot to process right now," Crowley said. "But you deserve to know. Your coming here... it was fate. It was foretold."

Dean opened his mouth and then closed it again. He finally met Castiel's eyes just to see if Castiel would give away the joke. He gave away nothing. His face was completely blank.

"Uh, what?" Dean said.

Castiel turned his gaze on Dean and Dean couldn’t help but stare back. “Some time ago, it was foretold by a prophet that one would come to our world. One who would not share our senses but would know our hearts. Who would lead us to paradise. The righteous man.”

Dean gaped. “I'm sorry but I think you've got the wrong guy,” he said, shaking his head.

“No Dean,” Crowley said with a smile. “You are the righteous man. You're going to help us win the war.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next deal with an attempted rape. It is not graphic.

After a few vague intimations about getting Dean ready to lead the Hordes of Hell to a decisive and violent victory, Crowley dismissed them both from his presence so that he could hold a war council in the map room and discuss Dean's future. 

Castiel was to show Dean to his room. A guard was sent with them, this one a woman with dark hair and a heart-shaped face. Dean spared her only a brief glance before turning to Castiel and speaking. He began asking questions as soon as the door closed behind them. 

"So before, in the ba—"

Castiel cut him off with a frown. He looked back at the closed door intensely and then motioned for Dean to follow. 

Castiel led Dean down a number of winding hallways with walls mostly of bare stone. The guard followed at a distance. Once they made it to an area of the castle that looked older and more worn down, Castiel stopped and looked at Dean. 

"What did you want to say?" Castiel asked. 

"Uh," Dean said. 

Castiel turned and began walking again. 

Dean hurried to keep up. "Before, when you said I was interesting. The prophecy... is that what you meant?"

Castiel was silent for a moment. "Yes," he said eventually. "In part."

"Okay. And Crowley is he--"

"The king."

"Yes, I know."

"No, you must use his title. King. Never just 'Crowley.' He could have your head for that."

"Yeah, but he won't," Dean said. And then, an afterthought: “will he?” 

"No, probably not," Castiel replied, the ghost of a wry smile on his face. 

"Well, the king then," Dean continued. "Why can't you talk freely in front of him? What are you, like his wife?"

The smile slipped off Castiel's face as quickly as it had appeared. "Not yet," he said, quietly. 

"Wait, really?" Dean said. 

Castiel gave him a withering look. "I've been promised to him. My family..." he looked away. "I will marry him and give him an heir."

Dean stopped in the middle of the hallway. 

"What?" He said. 

"I imagine our world is very different from yours" Castiel said, pausing a few strides ahead and looking Dean over. 

"But... you're a man," Dean said. "I saw, in the bath... I mean, I'm sorry but I was totally looking and you are definitely a guy."

Castiel’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "Some of the males of our species have breeding capabilities," he said. 

"You're kidding," Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck and beginning to walk again.

"I am not," Castiel said seriously, walking with him. "That is what is meant by designation. Alpha, beta, and omega. I am the latter. That means I am able to bear children." Castiel looked resolutely ahead while Dean processed this information. Dean just kept saying "what" and shaking his head every few steps. Castiel watched him out of the corner of his eye, looking almost amused at Dean's wonderment. They walked companionably in silence for a while until they reached the bedroom Dean was meant to occupy for the next however long. The omega revelation had distracted him from contemplating his so-called “destiny.” But as Castiel opened the door and presented him with a big four-poster bed, a rug, and a fireplace, Dean was hit with the craziness of everything that had happened to him in the last few hours. He stepped inside in a daze. As Castiel turned to leave, Dean called out to him. "Cas," he said hurriedly. 

"Yes, Dean?" Cas said, head titled at the nickname and a slightly more pronounced smile dancing on his full lips. 

Dean sighed. "I don't think I'm it," he said. "The righteous man." He knew he was letting on too much to how scared he was, but he didn't care. He shouldn’t have to just take this.

Cas looked at him wistfully. "You just need to have faith," he said. 

Dean recoiled. "I just want to go home," he said quietly as he turned away. 

"Me too," he thought he heard as Cas closed the door and left. 

…

Dean passed the next days with meetings with ugly old men (and a few frightening women) and tours of the castle and grounds, mostly led by Cas. Nothing caught his eye as much as the books in the war room, though. Man, Sammy would be proud, he thought as he tried not to look too excited at the chance to browse them without Crowley breathing down his neck. He wanted to borrow a few, but didn't know whether he should hide the book on omega physiology under the book on interplanar travel or vice versa. He ended up hiding them both under a book on war history, which he figured was safe enough if it got back to Crowley, and also unfortunately necessary if the man he’d started referring to in his head as ‘the mad king’ was expecting him to lead a freaking war. God, he was not prepared for this.

He mostly shut himself in his room and read. He wasn't sure if he had exiled himself there, or if Crowley just wanted him to think it was his own decision. 

His meals were brought to his room three times every day. At least once a day, it was Cas who came to his door with the tray of food. Cas still watched him with the same intense curiosity he had the day they met, but Dean liked to think they were slowly building rapport. They made small talk and he would try to make Cas laugh. He hadn’t yet succeeded, but it was an entertaining past time, at least. When he joked about why Cas only came at meal times he learned that Cas did not, in fact, have free reign of the castle. It turned out Cas spent most of his time alone in his room as well, guarded by a beta named Meg—the guard that had escorted them both on his first day. Alphas were not allowed extended contact with Cas. As it turned out. 

Seemed pretty messed up to Dean, but he supposed he probably didn't know all that much about what was normal here. Hence the book on omegas. He’d started reading it immediately and was dying to ask Cas about self-lubricating assholes, but he hadn't found a way to work it into a casual conversation yet. One day. He didn't want to embarrass his only friend here, after all. Well, not really. Not enough that he would stop coming back. 

His interest in that had only been overshadowed by his time spent researching how to get back home. First, he was already craving a burger. Even one from Biggerson’s would do. Not to mention cigarettes, as his only pack had been soaked through with river water and disappeared along with his clothes. Second, he was worried about Sam. It didn’t matter that his kid-brother was half grown. In the days before the river, Sam was getting into more trouble than he’d ever been in. And their whole lives had been trouble. It kept Dean up at night to think about whether Sam had realized his brother had been gone for days, and what Sam was doing without him there to keep his nose clean.

With all that and the whole war thing, Dean was keeping pretty busy. Crowley had been making him come to his war meetings, although he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be doing in them. Especially since the war didn’t seem to be much of one, since Cas had been turned over as a peace offering between the two sides. He asked Cas to explain it to him one day when Cas came in with his lunch, a hearty stew with a side of bread. 

“So, you’re an angel, then?” Dean asked as Cas watched him eat. 

“You know I am,” Cas said from his post by the door. He always stayed until Dean was finished but he never seemed sure where to be while he was there. “I saw the books you took.” Dean had the sense to look a little sheepish. So much for his secrecy.

Dean swallowed and looked away. “Where I come from, angels are… different,” Dean said. “Fluffy wings, halos…”

“I see,” Cas said. “Here I suppose it’s little more than a name. A nationality, maybe, or a tradition. I’m an angel, like the king and his people are demons. It always has been. It has been written.”

“Okay, weird,” Dean said. “Well, on my earth, angels are… they’re… well, actually, they’re a myth.” Dean’s voice turned rough. “A religion, even,” he added.

Cas tilted his head. “A religion?” he said. “That doesn’t sound so different to me. My father… The King… he ruled with exactness. Expected complete obedience. We have traditions, rituals, rules, all the things a good religion has. No wings or halos. But we had a God.”

“Had?” Dean says softly.

“My father died.”

“That sucks,” Dean said, awkward but heartfelt, putting his spoon down and pushing the tray to the side.

“I have to wonder, if my father had lived… if we would already be at peace.” 

Dean frowned contemplatively. “Hasn’t this war lasted, well, like a hundred years or something?” he asked. 

“Yes,” Cas answered. “Perhaps you make a good point. Perhaps my father would never have stopped hating them, after so long. I admit, I didn’t really know the man.”

Dean swallowed his surprise. He wanted to know why, but he swallowed that down too. “Something changed, didn’t it,” he said. “To make peace an option. Was it Crowley?”

“The King,” Cas reminded him firmly. 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, the King,” he said. “He’s a new king, isn’t he.”

Cas nodded, and Dean smirked triumphantly. Even in an alternate reality, he would know what opportunism looked like in a man like Crowley. 

“And he wants peace,” Dean continued.

“He wants to survive,” Cas qualified. “Unfortunately, the angels don’t have… quite that sense for self-preservation.” He gave a small sigh. 

“But I thought you were the peace-offering,” Dean said. “Why is there no peace?”

Cas stared. “An offering,” he whispered, “yes. But then, is it really a sacrifice if it has no value?”

Dean got the feeling Cas had forgotten he was even there. “Cas, what are you talking about?” he asked softly.

“It’s only an armistice,” Cas said, his voice and visage suddenly taking on an urgent quality. “Michael’s armistice. But Lucifer is raising an army and no one knows what will happen. The armistice could end. If I…If I leave, it WILL end. But if I marry, it may be my life that ends. I just want to be certain I’m giving it for peace. Not for nothing.”

“Cas,” Dean said again. “what are you talking about?”

“If there’s no peace, it’s all for nothing.”

“Is that why you haven’t married yet?” Dean breathed. “You’re putting it off to see if Lucifer wins?”

“Once Crowley has an heir, he won’t need me,” Cas said, simply.

…

After Cas left with his discarded lunch tray, Dean laid on his bed. He knew he should be focusing on getting home, but Cas’s revelation was taking up all the space in his thoughts. He wracked his brain for something he could do. He opened the book on war history and started actually reading it for the first time, but he couldn’t find anything helpful. It was just a love story to the old King, Azazel. Apparently, he was the guy before Crowley killed him in cold blood or something. It didn’t make him feel any better. 

When another nameless guard came to fetch him for yet another war meeting, he went with him eagerly for once. Even if it wasn’t his destiny to end this war, he knew now he was going to do something. He would find a way to help Cas. He was sure he could do that, at least.

But when he got to the meeting, Cas ignored him resolutely. Dean couldn’t even catch his eye when Crowley turned his back to fetch more drinks. When it was over, Cas didn’t try to walk him back to his room. He simply bid Crowley goodnight with a kiss to his hand and shuffled, stone-faced, back to his chambers. It made Dean sick. He hadn’t known this guy for more than a couple days, but the dude was under his skin. 

That night Dean fell asleep with a book on his chest. He dreamed that the demons had black eyes and slit throats, blood dripping from the wounds even as they walked. Burn marks in the shape of wings adorned the ground they walked upon. And above them, in the sky, a man with glowing red eyes stabbed a man whose eyes were green.  
…

The next day when Cas brought Dean’s lunch, he was distant. Awkward. Well, Cas was always distant and awkward, but usually Dean didn’t mind. He tried to get him to open up with small talk, but it didn’t work. Cas was distracted. Instead of smiling, he kept clenching and unclenching his jaw. When Cas left after lunch, he left Dean with the feeling that something was wrong. 

Dean had been keeping in mind escape routes and contingency plans ever since he got here, but while he waited to be fetched for today’s meeting, he ran them through in his mind, looking for flaws. He had a feeling he might be needing them soon.

When the knock finally came, Dean went to the war room as usual. But Cas wasn’t there. And that put him on edge. He sat and listened while old men discussed his possible part in the war to come, and he watched Crowley drivel on about his hordes and hounds with a carefully-arranged smirk on his face. When he was finally dismissed, he tarried by the closing door, hoping to catch what they were saying in there without him. Something was up and he needed to know what it was. Thankfully, unlike Cas, he wasn’t guarded day and night. He was free, for the moment, to do whatever he wanted. And what he wanted was to hear what was being said in that room. Dean knew from his tour that there was a servant’s room right next to the war room. He slipped in quietly and snuck up to the door adjoining the two rooms, holding his breath and trying to make out the muffled voices.

“It’ll work,” he heard Crowley say. “You know his kind, they’re puritanical. As soon as the bitch is knocked up, he’ll want to legitimize it.”

“We can have the ceremony the week after. Everything’s ready to go,” another voice said. 

“And then we move on Michael,” a third voice added. Dean recognized this voice—the only female in the room, the General, Lilith. 

“And then we move on Michael,” Crowley confirmed. “I’ll send a letter to Zachariah once it’s done. Let him know the plan is in place. We’ll have to be discreet until the pup is born and the bitch is disposed of. He still thinks the marriage is for Michael’s benefit—for peace. I don’t want him to do anything we might… regret… if he finds out the deal was to give aid to Lucifer’s coup. He won’t like that at all.”

“We can deploy only the infiltrators during those months for secrecy,” Lilith said. “We should send the Winchester after Michael. His lack of scent will make him a fantastic spy.”

“Good,” Crowley said. “Things are moving fast, now, boys. I’ve already had the doctor induce the heat.”

Dean pulled away from the door in horror. Crowley induced a heat? From what he’d read… Dean knew he had to get to Cas before Crowley did. He had to tell him what he’d heard. 

Dean snuck back out of the room immediately and hurried toward Cas’s room. He’d only been there once, on the tour, but he had run over the route in his head and he knew he could find it. He broke into a run once he was far enough from the war room that they wouldn’t hear him. As he followed the long hallways towards Cas’s room, he tried to remember the things the book had said about heat. Cas would be vulnerable like that. He could be in danger. Dean felt sick. 

When he turned the last corner and Cas’s room was in sight, he slowed almost to a stop. Meg was stationed outside Cas’s door. She had a pained expression on her pale features, her plump lips pursed uncomfortably. Dean could guess why.

“Everything okay, Meg?” he asked as he drew closer.

“Yep,” she said tersely, shooting him a quick smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She seemed to be trying not to breathe. It must be starting then, Dean deduced. 

“Is he okay?” he asked.

“Yep,” Meg replied.

“It’s just, he was supposed to meet me, and he didn’t show,” Dean lied, arranging his features into a forced smile. He tried to slow his breathing. “Can I talk to him.”

“Nope,” Meg said. 

Dean opened his mouth to protest. Meg cut him off before he could speak. “I’m really not supposed to let anyone in,” she said.

“Meg, I know you know what’s going on,” Dean said, dropping the pretense. “He’ll be safer with me here. That’s what you’re here for, right? To keep him safe?”

“Is it?” she said, shooting him a cold look. But he could tell it was getting to her.

“I can’t believe I’m appealing to the morals of a fucking demon here,” Dean groaned impatiently, “but he has a right to know what they did to him. Just let me tell him. Please. He can’t smell me, I can’t smell him, I’m the safest person to see him right now.”

He moved into her space and she glared at him. But then realization dawned on her features and her frown was replaced with a look of relief. 

“Your scent,” she said excitedly. 

“What?” Dean said, confused and impatient.

“You’re like some kind of a… a dampener,” she explained. “I can barely smell him when you’re next to me. I can only smell—well—nothing.” She took in a deep breath and her shoulders sagged in relief. 

“Okay,” Dean said. “Can I go in then?”

Meg frowned.

“Look, you want me to stay here so you don’t have to drown in his fucking heat scent, I’ll do it. But from in there. It’ll look suspicious if I’m loitering outside his door. Just let me in.”

Meg sighed. “Fine,” she said. “But if I get in trouble for this I will murder you in your sleep.” She stepped aside and pulled the heavy door open. 

Dean stepped around her and through the door. At first he didn’t see Cas anywhere, but as he moved inside and shut the door behind him, he caught movement in one side of his field of vision. He turned and saw Cas sitting up from behind a nest of blankets on his wide four-poster bed, the blankets pushed aside, Cas’s body covered only by a dark blue robe left hanging open. For once, Dean averted his eyes.

“Dean,” Cas said, his deep voiced strained and tinged with confusion. “what are you doing here?”

“Cas,” Dean said, relieved despite himself to see him. He looked into Cas’s eyes and resolved to look only there. “We have to get out of here.”

Cas’s eyes narrowed. “Why,” he asked blankly.

Dean wasn’t sure what to say. “You’re in heat,” he began. 

“I’m aware,” Cas replied tersely. 

“No, I mean Crowley induced a heat,” Dean said quickly. “He made you go into heat.”

“What?” Cas said, his eyes widening slightly. Dean thought he could see fear in them, but Cas quickly schooled his features into a blank stare.

“He…” Dean hesitated awkwardly and then spit out the rest. “He wants to get you pregnant so you’ll marry him out of duty. You were right. He wants an heir and then—”

“—And then he’ll kill me,” Cas finished. “Yes,” he said, almost to himself.

“He’s coming, Cas,” Dean said. “We have to go.”

“No,” Cas said, squaring his shoulders and looking away. “You have to go.”

“What?” Dean said. “Cas. I’m not gonna leave you.”

“It’s not your place,” Cas said sternly, rising from his bed in a whirl of dark blue.

“Who fucking cares,” Dean almost-yelled.

“I do,” Cas growled, moving closer. “The armistice, Dean.” His tone was reprimanding. “It’s my duty.”

“You don’t owe them anything,” Dean pleaded. Cas shook his head. Dean’s face clouded over in anger. “They sold you, Cas!” he shouted.

“You don't understand, Dean, it's my duty,” Cas said through gritted teeth.

"I understand enough," Dean replied.

Cas scoffed. “You know nothing of this world,” he said. “I opened up to you too much. I was weak. I was just excited to see something new and interesting. You don’t get a say.”

“If you stay, neither will you,” Dean said. “They’re playing you, Cas. They’re backing Lucifer. There is no armistice.” 

Cas froze. He backed away abruptly. “What?” he said.

“I heard him say it. Just now. They’re playing you.”

Cas seemed to shrink. He turned away. “Leave,” he said over his shoulder.

“No,” Dean said. 

Cas turned around. “I will figure it out, Dean,” he said, each word punched through with anger. “You cannot be here when they come.” 

“What—”

“Just trust me,” Cas said.

“How can I trust you if I don’t know you,” Dean spat out. But he turned and left anyway, his breathing hard and his hands clenched into fists.

He passed Meg on his way out, shutting the door behind him as he went. He ignored her nervous glare and kept walking. His head was spinning. On second thought he probably shouldn’t have yelled, but it was too late to go back now. He didn’t know why he cared so much. Dean turned the corner, intending to leave Cas to make his own decision, but as he turned the corner he nearly stumbled when he was met with four kingsmen—and the King himself. 

“Dean,” Crowley said. “Fancy seeing you here. Just out for a stroll, are we?”

Dean sucked in his anger and contempt. “Yes, your majesty,” he said, staring Crowley down, wishing he could punch the smug look off of his face.

“All the way on Castiel’s side of the castle?” he said in mock surprise. 

Dean glared, trapped by the King and the four men behind him, all of which were carrying swords. It seemed Crowley felt he needed a whole detail of guards to get away with the rape he had planned. Dean felt sick. He had to do something. He threw caution to the wind.

“I know what you’re planning,” Dean said, more calmly than he felt. “I told him. He knows.”

“Ahh, Crowley said, a look of slight disappointment shadowing his eyes.

“If you do this, I will not help you.” Dean said, his voice beginning to shake. “I swear to God, if you do this, I will end you.”

Crowley’s thin lips twisted up into a gleeful smile, but his eyes stayed grim. “Dean, Dean, Dean,” he said. “Chosen one or no, I will not be betrayed.” He raised his hands in a mockery of supplicating confession. “I perfected the double cross,” he said. He snapped his fingers and the guards closed in around Dean, grabbing him roughly and twisting his arms behind his back.

“Cas!” Dean called as they dragged him down the corridor, away from Cas’s quarters.


	3. Chapter 3

The guards dumped Dean in a dank smelling dungeon. The walls were stone and there were stains in dry rust-brown puddles on the floor. Dean could barely see in the light coming from the square of the door they led him in through, but he thought he could make out a rack on the far side of the room. The guards strung him up against one wall in rusty chains and closed the door, leaving him in darkness.

At this point, it was looking like he might have been better off with Alistair. Dean supposed it was probably too much to hope for a second portal to mysteriously open up and swallow him whole. He rested against the wall and clanked his chains against the stone in frustration. The chains were sturdy and strong, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to break them. He hoped to God Cas could find a way out of this. At least Cas was facing two guards now instead of four. At least he had done that.

He sank down in despair, resting his head on his knees. He sat like that for a long time, resolving to do his best to kill the first son of a bitch that came for him. So when the door finally swung open with a smash, he was ready for revenge. But what he saw was Castiel, standing in the doorway and outlined in a blue light coming from behind his disheveled figure as he stood before Dean, panting, a silver dagger shining in one hand, the tip dark with blood.

“Cas?” Dean asked, in awe and surprise.

“We have to go,” Cas grunted, tripping into the room unsteadily. He fumbled at Dean’s chains, freeing him and pulling him up. “Come on.”

Dean followed him up the stairs and through a short corridor that led to the entrance hall. Dean kept a look-out for kingsmen, but they were met with empty halls. It was now quite late at night, he supposed. And Cas must have incapacitated his assailants so thoroughly they couldn’t call for help. Dean grinned at the thought.

Before long, they made it out of the castle and into the cool night air. Cas was still in his blue robe, the ends of which were now flapping wildly around his ankles as he snuck across the grounds to the gate, Dean following close behind. There was a small door to the side of the main gate, and likely a guard on the other side of it. Cas grasped the handle and nodded to Dean, who flattened himself against the wall in preparation. When Cas swung the door in towards himself Dean slipped through it, fists raised. When the guard on the other side turned around in surprise, Dean threw a punch that hit him square in the jaw, sending him backward. As he fell he cried out, and then Cas was on top of him, slitting his throat deftly with the silver blade.

“Shit,” Dean said, looking on. Cas spared one glance to see if more guards were coming and then took off towards the tree line. Dean pulled the door closed behind them and followed in a full-out sprint. When he reached the tree line Cas was waiting for him, just behind a tangle of trees. Cas held a hand to his side, and in the moonlight, Dean could see a dark spread of blood on the blue of his robe. As soon as Dean caught up he lowered his hand and turned, leading Dean through the trees, away from the castle.

Dean figured they were heading toward the encampment he’d encountered on the day he arrived, and when he asked Cas as much, Cas confirmed it. They took turns jogging and walking quickly, and as they walked, Cas laid out his plan. He would get two horses from the paddock at the edge of the clearing, since he couldn’t risk getting close enough to be in scent range of any of the camp’s soldiers. As he explained this he clenched his jaw, and Dean pretended not to notice. Dean was to get food and water and a set of clothes to replace Cas’s now-bloodied robe. He reminded himself to look for medical supplies as well, in case the wound was worse than Cas was letting on. And some kind of weapon, too. 

When they arrived at the encampment, Dean and Cas split in opposite directions. Cas set off around the perimeter and Dean carried on towards the tents. He was able to pilfer a canvas bag from outside of one of the tents near the edge. He checked inside it as he went and was delighted to find some dried meat, fresh bread, and skins of water. The poor son of a bitch who left this unattended was probably headed on some quest tomorrow. Sucker. Dean stopped in his tracks when he heard a grunt from his left. He slowly turned toward the sound and was surprised to see a man asleep in a tent with the flap left open. The man was snoring. Dean shrugged and crept into the tent, looking around for things to take. Next to the man’s hand was an ornate dagger. Dean filched it immediately and stuck it in his waistband for safekeeping. Dean rifled through the man’s clothes for something Cas could wear. He caught sight of a small box and opened it to find a needle and thread. “Yahztee,” he whispered. He grabbed some stuff semi-indiscriminately and hoped Cas could make do. Then he ducked back out of the tent and made his way to the paddock to meet Cas.

Dean managed to maneuver around the camp without drawing the attention of a single soul. He darted behind a tent each time he heard footsteps or drunken laughter, and it wasn’t long before he had everything in hand and was nearing the rendezvous point. He only hoped Cas was as lucky. When he made it to the paddock, he gave the horses a wide berth, praying they wouldn’t neigh or whatever. Dean didn’t know the first fucking thing about horses—a side effect of growing up in cars and getting stuck in a dirty city, working for the mob. He found Cas, along with two horses, a little ways into the trees beyond the clearing. The horses were saddled and everything. “Oh thank God,” he said, shooting Cas a grateful smile where he sat atop the light brown colored one. Dean petted the black horse that was to be his and then strapped the canvas bag more firmly across his shoulders. He took a deep breath and stuck a foot in the saddle, hoisting himself up in one swift movement. When he was successfully seated, he blinked and then grinned happily, ruffling the horse’s mane. “Good girl,” he said, then looked up to see Cas watching him curiously.

“What,” he said.

Cas shook his head and spurred his horse forward through the trees. Dean brandished his reins vaguely and, thankfully, his horse followed.

They kept a quick pace on the well-traveled path that passed by the encampment. To keep his spirits up on the long ride as his eyelids began to droop and his tailbone started to hurt, Dean imagined they were outlaws, riding for their lives. Since they technically were outlaws riding for their lives, it was easy to do. Eventually Cas led them away from the path and they slowed considerably. Dean followed Cas’s lead as they picked a careful path through the trees, listening to the rhythmic clop of the horses’ hooves and the quiet soundtrack of the wilderness. They rode in silence until the sun came up over the horizon.

As the sky turned from black to gray, Cas pulled his horse to a stop and gracefully dismounted. Dean stopped and attempted to do the same, but Cas made it look so damn much easier than it was. He got stuck hanging off one side of the saddle and had to make a jump for it. But he couldn’t see where the ground was so his heels hit the ground off-balance and he ended up on his ass. He sat on the ground for a second, surprised. Cas stared at him from beside his horse, his jaw dropped and his mouth hanging open. And then suddenly, Cas burst into laughter. Dean was even more surprised at that, and the dumbstruck look on his face had Cas in fits, his lips pulled up to show his gums and his eyes scrunched into little half-moons. God, it was beautiful, Dean thought. He’d been waiting a week to hear that laugh. Dean broke into a smile and leaned back on his hands, letting the moment catch up to them.

When Cas was done laughing, he came over and held out his hand. Dean took it and climbed to his feet, surprised at how soft Cas’s hand was in his. He would have thought someone as good at killing as Cas was would have hands more like his own—rough and callused and harsh. He realized they were still holding hands when he looked at Cas and heard his breath hitch.

Shit, he thought as he quickly dropped Cas’s hand. Cas was still in heat. And even though he couldn’t smell Dean like that, he was still probably… well… horny as fuck. Cas’s face colored as he stepped away.

“There’s a stream near here,” Cas muttered as he backed towards his horse again. 

Dean listened for the sound of rushing water and thought he could hear it. 

“We should cross it,” Cas continued as he began to lead his horse forward on foot. “But first I thought we could take a break.” He looked back at Dean and then quickly looked ahead again, and Dean wondered what he was seeing in Cas’s eyes when he got like this.

Dean took hold of his horse’s reins and followed, and soon he was sure he could hear the rushing water. He joined Cas and the other horse at the water’s edge and let his horse drink from the clear stream. It was small, but moving, and Dean figured it was safe enough. 

“I think I’d like to change now,” Cas said, turning to Dean as he absently petted his horse’s neck.

“Oh, right,” Dean said, pulling the canvas bag from his back. He dug into the bag and pulled out the clothes he’d grabbed. “Hope they fit,” he said, tossing them at Cas.

Cas responded by dropping the clothes atop a nearby rock and then disrobing entirely with no warning. Dean looked away quickly, but not before he caught a glimpse of dark red at Cas’s side. So he looked back at Cas’s body, just to check the status of the wound. 

“Shit,” he exclaimed when he got a good look at it. It was deep enough that it was still bleeding.

“It’s fine,” Cas said, looking down at it with his customary frown.

“Uh no, it’s not,” Dean said. Cas crouched down and splashed some water on it. The reddened water streamed back down his body, catching in the dark hair below his navel and travelling down his muscled legs.

“I can help,” Dean said, digging hurriedly through the bag again. His hand emerged with the sewing kit clutched within it.

Cas frowned. “Fine,” he said, sitting down and stretching out beneath Dean’s hands. Dean knelt beside him and cleaned the wound tenderly with a piece ripped off from the robe. Then he began to stitch. At each pass of the needle, Cas hissed. But through the whole affair, he remained perfectly still. Dean had never played doctor to a better patient. When that was done, Dean cleaned the remaining blood off, kneeling across Cas’s body to get at the water. He could feel Cas’s breathing beneath him as he did so, and he resolutely kept his eyes off Cas’s lower half. When he decided it was enough, he helped Cas sit up and then gently brushed the dirt from his shoulders and back. Still kneeling right behind him, Dean ripped the cleanest stretch of the old robe off to tie around the wound. He leaned forward to wind the cloth around Cas’s middle and found himself facing Cas’s lap as he did. Shit, Dean thought, if that was how big an omega’s dick was, he’d hate to see an alpha’s. He chided himself internally and then tied the knot and leaned back. 

“Okay,” Dean said, and then cleared his throat awkwardly. “All done.” He stood and reached a hand out to help Cas up.

Cas rose, hovering in Dean’s space. “Thank you, Dean,” he said, his voice deep with earnestness. 

“No problem, Cas,” Dean replied, taking a measured step back. 

Cas took a step back as well, another flash of that unidentifiable something in his eyes. “I’ll be right back,” he said, turning away and stooping to grab his discarded clothes. “We should leave soon.”

“Yup,” Dean replied as Cas walked away. He half-wished he could brush the dirt from his ass the way he’d done on his back, but he wasn’t about to. “Don’t bust your stitches,” he said under his breath. He knew what Cas was going to do. Anyone who could be half-hard with a needle in their flesh must either be scary masochistic or really freakin’ horny. Either way, he felt sorry for the guy.

Dean sat on the rock Cas’s clothes had been on and waited. He tried not to think about what Cas might be doing just out of sight, about what his slick might smell like or about the pictures in the book on omegas he’d read. Dean groaned internally. I’m going to hell, he thought. If I’m not already there.

As soon as Cas got back, fully clothed thank god, they set out across the stream. Cas explained the plan from there, which was to go across a rockier area on foot. “It will be slower,” he explained, “but harder to track.” Then he looked at Dean curiously. “Meg told me you’re a dampener, is that true?” he asked.

“Uh, I guess so?” Dean said.

“Good,” Cas replied. “That’s good. That will help. If you stay behind me, they shouldn’t be able to track my scent.”

“Well that’s convenient,” Dean said with a smile. Cas gave him a smile back.

They walked in silence for a while before Dean decided to ask the questions that had been nagging him since last night. “So Meg helped you escape then?” he asked tentatively.

“Yes,” Cas replied. “Well, not exactly,” he amended. “She informed me that they had taken you, and that you would be useful, should I rescue you. As a dampener, as I said.” He gave a bitter smile that quickly turned into a grimace. “I hope she’s okay,” he said quietly.

Dean raised his eyebrow. “How did you escape, then?” he asked.

“I had my angel blade,” Cas said, as if that was explanation enough.

“And you killed four guards, by yourself,” Dean pressed. 

Cas sighed, “I’m a soldier, Dean. Angels are warriors of God. Even omega ones.”

Dean frowned. “Did you kill Crowley?”

“No.”

“What?” Dean exclaimed, outraged. “He was gonna rape you, Cas.”

“Dean,” Cas said sternly. “I’m aware. It’s politics. The politics of Heaven or the politics of Hell, they’re no different, and I can handle them both.” He gave Dean a look as if daring him to challenge that.

“Okay,” Dean said, hands up in surrender. 

Cas frowned. “There are other demons vying for Hell,” he said. “Lilith. Abbadon. They would be worse.” 

“Okay,” Dean repeated. “But he’s going to tell Zachariah that you left.”

“Why would…” Cas stopped in his tracks. His face clouded over with understanding, and then rage. “I see,” he said. “Tell me what you overheard.”

…

They navigated the rocky, dangerous terrain all morning and into the afternoon with frequent rests and one memorable stop wherein Dean fell asleep leaning on his horse. After that it was smooth riding, and Cas set a brisk pace that they kept well into the evening. 

Once it was well and truly dark, they found a small clearing in which to spend the night. They tied the horses to a tree and settled in the clearing to finally get a night’s sleep after nearly 48 hours of travel.

They both shivered slightly. Dean rubbed his arms and sat on the cold ground. Then he looked up with a groan. “Who’s got first watch,” Dean asked wearily. 

Cas titled his head and gave Dean a look. “No one,” he said slowly. When Dean looked confused, Cas continued. “I’m going to set up a perimeter spell.” With that, he headed to a big oak off to the side, drawing his silver blade as he went.

“I’m sorry, you’re what now?” Dean said, incredulously.

“A perimeter spell,” Cas repeated, dragging the blade across the skin of his hand and then tucking the blade under one arm.

“Okay, blood magic,” Dean muttered. “That was unexpected.” He scratched his head and stared after Cas, who was now smearing the blood onto the tree with two fingers. 

“Hemomancy is, largely considered, preferable to necromancy,” Cas said, oddly. 

“You… practice necromancy?” Dean said, his eyebrows pinched in surprise.

“No, demons practice necromancy,” Cas said gruffly. “Some of them, anyway. Not that Heaven has never… but the practice has… fallen out of favor.” He shifted awkwardly.

“Ok, so that’s a ‘no’ on the necromancy. Got it,” Dean said. He rubbed the back of his head with one hand. “But you have magic.”

“It’s not uncommon here. Crowley, for example, has spelled most of his castle in a way that allows him to spy on the people within it. Angels generally know a fair amount. We don’t know as much magic as, say, witches,” Cas qualified. He looked back at Dean and his eyes turned dark. “But we know enough.”

With that, Cas turned back to the tree and finished painting the sigil. Dean shook his head. A little bit of blood traced onto a tree and the area was warded, the alarm set. 

Cas shuffled over to where Dean was sitting, less graceful now and more a slow-ambling mess than anything else. But not even that, or his own heavy exhaustion, could dull the awe in Dean's expression at Cas's magical abilities. Magical abilities! Sam was not going to believe this. If Dean ever made it back to him, that was. Dean shook his head and spread out onto his back, searching the still darkening skies for the first stars. The first real opportunity for sleep in days, he was not going to waste it missing home or worrying about Sam. 

Cas sat on his left and briefly hovered above him before tossing the blade on the ground and slumping down onto his back as well, gazing up at the sky like he was trying to decipher what exactly Dean saw up there. After a few silent seconds, Cas shifted closer, his head encroaching on Dean's space like he really did want Dean's perspective. 

"Dude," Dean said, turning to look at Cas in confusion. Cas turned his head to the side and looked back. 

Their noses were now much too close. 

"What?" Cas asked, looking utterly unperturbed except for the slight frown he often wore. 

"Personal space," Dean replied, eyes wide. 

"Oh," Cas said. He didn’t move.

Dean turned his head back up towards the stars. 

"About that-" Cas continued, still staring, still encroaching in Dean's space. Dean looked back over at him, surprised. 

"I thought maybe we could sleep together tonight," Cas finished. 

Dean stuttered. "You what?"

"Well, it is uncomfortably cold out here," Cas said, as though he hadn't said anything out of the ordinary at all. He shivered as though to make his point. "I thought perhaps we might be more comfortable if we were to share body heat."

"So you want to spoon," Dean said, a note of something in his voice, incredulousness maybe, or hysteria. 

Cas narrowed his eyes and studied Dean. Maybe he didn't know the word. "It is very cold," Cas finally replied. And then, quieter. "And it will reduce my scent. Which is always a good thing." He looked away in something Dean thought might be embarrassment. Dean's heart twitched in that moment, a sad little flop that had him saying "okay" before even thinking. Cas looked back at him. 

"But I'm the big spoon," Dean said gruffly, giving Cas's shoulder a tap to get him to turn onto his side with his back towards him. 

"I'm sure you are, Dean," Cas said, closing his eyes and relaxing as Dean gathered him into his chest.   
…


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some sexy in the beginning. Don't get too excited. You won't be satisfied.

When Dean woke in the morning it was to bright sunlight and birds chirping. He nuzzled idly against Cas's neck, not quite asleep any more but still in the grasp of floating bones and a fuzzy head. He'd slept soundly, even on the ground, just from pure exhaustion, it seemed. He lay there, still wrapped around Cas and slowly registering the ache all down his left side, and then a vague wet sensation against his crotch. He lifted his head and squinted down at himself, stealing his arm back from where it was nesting between Cas's, slung around his middle, in order to pat the wet stain with his fingers. He brought his hand up to his face to smell it. He breathed in a familiar scent. It only took him a few seconds to realize it was the smell of sex. What the hell, he thought, and then it dawned on him. This was what Cas's slick smelled like. 

He felt a swooping burn in his belly as the blood rushed south. "Fuck," he whispered, as he tried to extricate himself from Cas without waking him. It didn't work. Cas pushed his hips back against Dean instinctively. Dean's breath hitched. "Cas," he gasped. 

"Hmphnhh," Cas replied, mostly asleep still, rolling his hips idly back again. 

"Cas, stop," Dean said, sitting up abruptly. Cas frowned at the cold and then rolled over and sat up as well, his eyes squinting in the light. 

"What," he said. 

"You're.. uh..." Dean fumbled, drawing his knees up self-consciously to hide his crotch. He gestured vaguely. Cas looked down in confusion. And then confusion turned to horror. 

"Dean," he said, frantically. "I'm sorry." He backed away and then stood, quickly and awkwardly. "It's.. I'm..." he turned away, shame settling on his shoulders. "It'll be over in a couple hours," he said bitterly, and then he made to leave. 

"Cas, wait," Dean called. 

Cas stopped, but he didn't turn. 

"It's okay!" Dean said. "Really, it's fine." He let his legs relax again. "Cas!" He all but shouted when Cas still didn't turn. 

Cas finally turned back. 

"It's not..." Dean hesitated. "I mean, I would..." he said. 

Cas looked up. "You would?" He asked. 

"No—Cas—it's..." Dean swallowed. "I read the book," he explained. "It said the heat is like a drug. I won't—"

"Well it's not," Cas cut in, almost angry suddenly. "It's like withdrawal. You'd be helping." 

"But you'd regret it," Dean countered, sheepishly. 

"I wouldn't," Cas said, a fever behind his skin turning him into something otherworldly. "I don't think."

"You have to know," Dean said, his throat dry and his voice cracking. Cas looked at him and the fever in his skin turned to lightning in his eyes and Dean was transfixed. 

"Say you know," Dean breathed. 

"I know," Cas said, closing the distance between them and pushing Dean down onto his back as he slid down on top of him to straddle his hips. When Cas's lips came down on Dean's, Dean couldn't help but moan into it. Cas palmed at Dean's chest roughly, pressing into him with his whole weight. Dean panted beneath him, bringing his hands to drag at the wet fabric at Cas's ass. The sound Cas made was broken, a strangled moan that shocked Dean's whole body and had him pressing against Cas in needy thrusts, mouthing frantically at his neck as Cas shifted above him. 

And then there was a bang and Cas was rolling off him, twisting as he went, grabbing his abandoned blade and looking for the intruder that set off the wards with his weight on his toes and fear and adrenaline like lightning flashing in his eyes. 

Dean scrambled up to take his flank, looking around wildly as he held his own dagger at the ready, breathing heavily. 

The horses stomped in agitation as Dean and Cas stood silently in the clearing, back to back and waiting for Crowley to try to take back what was his. 

They didn't have to wait long before they heard footsteps through the trees, but as the first figures emerged in dappled sunlight, they saw that it wasn't Crowley. 

"Hester?" Cas said hesitantly from Dean's right. Cas glanced between Cas and the woman he seemed to be addressing--a tall blond in armor carved with writing in a language Dean couldn't read. 

"Oh Castiel," the woman said, taking in his disheveled appearance and subtly breathing in what she could of his scent. She looked sad. "How far you have fallen."

Dean searched Cas's face. He saw it harden. 

The woman nodded to the men emerging from the trees on either side of her. One was fair-skinned and slight, the other dark-skinned and tall. "We're here to take you home," she said. All three carried silver blades identical to the one clutched in Cas's hand. 

"How did you find me?" Cas demanded. He stood straight and tall still in the center of the clearing. But his voice was hoarse and strained. Unfamiliar. 

"Metatron," the woman said, a smile breaking on her thin features as she continued moving closer. "He's in Heaven. He told us where to find you."

"Do you know what has happened?" Cas asked, urgently. The three angels stopped in a semi-circle around them, eying them warily. 

"I know you have lost your way," Hester replied. "I know I have orders to collect you."

"Inias," Cas said, his gaze flitting to the fairer man standing on one side. It sounded desperate. A plea. And a warning. 

The man, Inias, looked at Hester with concern. Dean could see it in the way his shoulders drew in. He didn't want to fight. 

Hester straightened her shoulders in response. She didn't seem to have quite the same trepidation. "Castiel," she said, louder this time. "By order of Prince Raphael, an Alpha, and your superior, lay down your weapon and submit.”

“I won't go back,” Cas said. “I won't be a game piece in Zachariah's war. This isn’t right.”

“Who are you to say what’s right, Castiel?” Hester returned. “You, a traitor. A whore.”

Cas grit his teeth. “I’m not going to let you take me,” he said.

“We’ll see,” Hester replied, advancing. Cas moved to meet her, blade shining in his hand.

"No!" Inias yelled, still frozen near the edge of the clearing. 

Dean lunged toward the darker man, who was already moving towards him. Dean threw all his momentum into the guy's arm, knocking the blade into the dirt. The two of them jumped for it, wrestling on the ground, each trying to get the upper hand. The guy was bigger than Dean was. He got the handle back in his grip and brought it swiftly to parry, but Dean stabbed him with his dagger just before it could reach. The guy whimpered as the blood spilled rapidly out of the wound below his ribs, and then he was gone.

Dean scrambled away and then stood, looking to Cas to see if he needed help.

Cas was standing right where Dean left him, breathing heavily and looming over Hester’s body. It was bloody and lifeless. As Dean watched, Cas sank to his knees, his blade digging uselessly into the ground at his side where he still gripped it. Cas lowered his head. 

Dean thought it looked like he was praying. But Dean didn't think he was. No. 

Inias approached cautiously. He knelt next to Cas and checked Hester’s pulse, and then leaned back on his heels in sadness. The two angels stayed there for a moment while Dean looked on.

“It's not going to stop,” Cas said then, standing up and looking at Inias with urgency in his eyes. “They will fight it out with their armies until there is nothing left.”

Inias only looked at him.

“Inias!” Cas said. “Help me end this. Take me to Metatron.” 

“If I bring you to heaven, they could kill you for treason,” Inias said, standing.

“And if I run, Metatron will continue to lead them back to me. And if I fight, more people will die.” Cas moved closer to Inias. “I don’t want to kill any more of my family,” Cas said.

“Then don’t,” Inias spit out. 

Cas blinked. “They’ll die anyway,” he said. “Help me save them.”

Inias looked him in the eyes. He took a deep breath. “I will.”  
…

There was nothing for it but leave the bodies and work on their plan. 

Cas and Inias talked it out while Dean listened. He didn’t like not being able to help plan, but he didn’t know the area, or the people. And from what he could gather, Zachariah was a nasty piece of work.   
Finally they had something that sounded workable, and Cas finally turned to Dean.

“Dean,” he said.

“Yeah, I’ve been listening,” Dean replied. “We pull a chewy and we're in, I’ve got it.”

“I don't know what a 'chewy' is,” Cas replied, “but you're not going to do it.” 

Dean was taken aback. “Well, I'm not staying here,” he complained.

“No, you'll come,” Cas conceded. “But you'll need to stay hidden. They can’t know about you. It would be disastrous.”

“I can help, Cas,” Dean said. “I can bust you out. They won’t smell me coming. I’m your best chance.”

Cas contemplated this for a second. Inias looked between Dean and Cas.

“You’re right,” Cas eventually said. “Inias?”

“You can wait at the stables with your horses,” Inias volunteered. “They should be pretty empty. Then I can meet you later, get you the key, give you directions.” 

“Alright,” Dean said.

“Alright?” Cas replied.

“Yeah, I'm in. Let's do this bitch.”

…

 

Inias drew a sigil in the dirt with his blade as Cas and Dean stood at a distance, holding the horses by the reigns in preparation for the transportation spell. They hovered awkwardly close but they weren't touching. Dean figured they were just not gonna talk about it. The almost-sex. Which was fine. 

If it was true that Cas's heat would be over in a few hours, they would probably never have to talk about it. They would never have to DO it. Not that Dean didn't want to. God, he'd wanted to. Cas's stubble had burned, the weight of him was intoxicating, his mouth had been hot and perfect. 

Cas shifted uncomfortably next to him like he could read his thoughts. Dean shook his head and looked back at Inias to see him standing with his blade aloft, waiting and ready to bleed for the spell that would take them to Heaven. 

Ready?" Dean asked, watching Cas for signs of backing out. 

Cas looked unflappable as ever, nodding as they moved to gather around the sigil, leading the two horses behind them. 

"Let me do it," Cas said, tucking the reins under his arm and reaching for Inias's blade. He re-opened the cut on his hand and gave the blade back. Dean watched as he turned his hand over and let the blood spill out, trickling down to the center of the maze of drawn dirt. The sigil turned a glowing blue. And the party stepped as one inside it.   
…

When they arrived at Heaven's gate, Dean was disoriented. It was like stepping through a wind tunnel but so fast you could only feel the aftermath. Dean had just fucking teleported. He wanted to laugh. But instead he looked around. He didn't know what he was expecting. A palace maybe. This looked more the the medieval equivalent of an office building. 

They were standing outside a large stone building. The stones were light grey, in stark opposition to the dreary castle they'd left behind with Crowley. Even the air seemed lighter here. Dean was glad to leave the muggy forest behind. Inias quickly steered the group through the gate and around the corner, out of sight of any guards that might be near. Apparently, this part of Heaven was rarely used these days. So many of their number had left with Lucifer. The rest were split into other factions. Michael. Raphael. Cas had explained it some more over the long journey. But either way, this was still home to him.

As agreed, Inias had taken them to the back gate. All of Heaven was warded against demons, so the few guards they had left mostly patrolled at intervals. There were no sentries here. Dean took his place with the horses, where Inias would come meet him later. As Dean commandeered some food and water for the beasts, Inias tied a rope around Cas's hands. And then the angels made their way to the front gate, and Cas was gone. 

Inias didn't come back for him until the sky had nearly darkened. In that time, Dean had thought up nearly a thousand ways to kill him if he'd crossed them. But Inias had come after all, and it seemed everything was still going to plan. Inias handed him a key and gave him directions to Cas's cell, and then explained how to get to Metatron from there. Dean committed the mental map to memory as Inias led him inside. And then Inias headed off to dinner, sparing only a nod and a soft smile as a parting gesture. 

Dean took a deep breath and then started to walk.   
…

When he finally found Cas's cell, it was to see him sitting up, waiting and alert. It was an open area, bars upon dirty bars. No special cell for the Prince, Dean thought a little bitterly. 

He unlocked the door and Cas walked out. He seemed unharmed. Unfazed. But Dean couldn't imagine that was true. 

Dean led the way to Metatron's quarters. The conversation was nonexistent, and they focused on keeping their footsteps as quiet as possible. 

They were moving into an area that was nicer, more fully lit. Dean found himself wishing for the rough stone instead of the smooth walls with gilded trim. When the made it to the door that Inias described, they stopped and looked at each other. Cas raised his fist to knock.

Before he could make contact with the door, the door itself swung open from the inside. As it swept away from them it revealed a short man with curly dark hair, wearing a velvet dressing gown with golden inlay. He was portly and somehow unpleasant.

“Castiel, Dean,” he said. “Please do come in.” He back away to let them pass, and Cas closed the door behind them after they did. 

“Metatron,” Cas said, a question in his voice.

“The one and only,” Metatron replied, taking a seat on a poufy velvet chair on one side of the room, facing his guests. Dean crossed his arms instinctively.

“We don’t have much time,” Castiel began.

“No, you really don’t,” Metatron interrupted. 

Cas stopped and frowned. “You know why we’re here?” he asked.

“I’m a prophet, Castiel. I know all. ‘It is written’ and all that.”

Cas continued to frown. Dean stepped in. “Alright, you’re awesome, we get it,” he said. “Are you gonna help us or not.”

“Oh Dean,” Metatron said, turning a sickly smile on him. “So much anger in you. Have some faith.”

Dean frowned skeptically. It seemed to him like Cas was the angry one, as he even he could tell that Cas was gearing up for a shouting match. And he couldn’t even tell the future like SOME people.

Cas stalked toward Metatron. “Heaven is in chaos,” he ground out, “and you just sit here in your tower. Do something!”

“Oh my dear, dumb, stupid boy,” Metatron said with a condescending smile. “I AM doing something. Why do you think I sent them after you? The Righteous Man.. The Fallen Angel.”

“What?” Cas said.

“Hadn’t you figured it out? You’re the fallen angel in my prophecy, Castiel.” 

“I am NOT fallen," Cas said through clenched teeth. 

“Not yet,” Metatron replied.

Cas blanched.

“If Zachariah had his way, you’d be more than fallen. You’d be dead. If he knew Dean was here, if he knew what he WAS. He would have him in chains faster than you could say ‘bondage.’ And it wouldn’t be a comfortable cell like mine. No, that’s for sure.”

“You’re a prisoner?” Cas asked.

“Oh, Castiel. We’re all prisoners.” 

“Why,” Dean butted in. “Why are they holding you?”

“Because,” Metatron said smugly. “I know who is supposed to be King.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Who?” Cas said immediately.

“Relax, Castiel, you can wipe that constipated look off your face. It isn’t you.”

Cas swallowed. “Of course it’s not me,” he said. “I’m not eligible.” He spat out the word like venom.

“Well, to be fair,” said Metatron, “neither is she.”

“She,” Cas repeated, staring at Metatron. Metatron grinned. Jesus this guy was a dramatic douche.

“I’m sorry, who?” Dean interrupted, irritated.

“Hannah,” Cas breathed in response.  
…

After Metatron had explained the rite of prophecy that determined the line of succession and his role in it to Dean, he told them it was their job to put things to rights.

“Why should we do what you say?” Dean said.

“Because you wouldn’t like the alternative,” Metatron replied. “Frankly, neither would I. In that reality, I end up dead. Your precious Castiel does too—after betraying you to kill his own family. And you, Dean. You lead the armies of Heaven. Hooo, I’d hate to see that show. You think you’re a fighter, Dean. You’re not. You’re a lover.” He titled his head suggestively at Cas. Dean frowned. 

Metatron continued. “Both sides—EVERY side—would use you up until you were all gone. Until WE were all gone. And we don’t want that, do we?” He paused for dramatic effect.

“I need to find my sister,” Cas spoke up, turning to Dean. “You don’t have to come.”

That bastard, Dean thought. Of course he was coming. “Blow me, Cas,” Dean said. “I’m coming.” He cringed at the accidental innuendo.

“Glad to see that’s settled,” Metatron smirked. “Best be on your way, then. Sell your horses to Joshua. Get on the boat at dawn. Ask for Tessa. Take the boat downriver to Rexford. Find Hannah. Bring her home.”

“That’s it?” Dean said, derisively.

“I don’t make the future, Dean,” Metatron replied. “I wish I could. No, I only SEE the future. YOU make the future. It’s your choice.”

Dean and Cas looked at each other. Dean could see resolve in Cas’s eyes. Hope. It made him brave. Determined. He was gonna fix this. For Cas.

Metatron cleared his throat. “Go now or you’ll miss it.”

Dean rolled his eyes and headed for the door.

“Don’t forget,” Metatron called out as the left, “you’ll need me.” 

Dean pulled the door shut behind him as he went.  
…

Dean and Cas retraced their steps back through the corridors into the dark yard. They kept quiet but for Dean asking why they could just teleport to Hannah.

“Because the spell only leads one way,” Cas explained in a whisper. “To Heaven’s gates.”

The sky was a starless black when they started out across the lawn, but by the time they made it to the stables, the sky had already begun to lighten.

As they ducked inside the stable unseen, Cas took a breath. “Dean,” he said, stopping suddenly.

“What,” Dean asked, turning back to face him.

“I have a… a request.”

Dean frowned. “Okay,” he said, “shoot.”

“As an omega, I’ll need an escort,” Cas explained, looking sheepish. “Being around strangers… I’ll need to be claimed.” He looked up and caught Dean’s eye.

Dean thought back to the book stuffed under his straw mattress back in Hell. “You want me to bite you?” he asked.

“Yes,” Cas said, “but it’s more than that. I need you to… pretend… to be my mate.” He explained. “For protection,” he added hastily. 

“Oh,” Dean said. He was still getting used to all this weird alpha/omega shit. “…okay.” He stood there, awkwardly. Cas frowned at him. 

They were really taking not talking about it to a whole new level.

“Dean,” Cas said again.

“Yeah?” Dean said, still standing still.

“Could you bite me please?”

Dean blushed. “Yep,” he said, achieving nonchalance not-at-all. He moved forward quickly, closing the distance. He crowded Cas up against a stall.

“Here?” he asked, touching his fingers gently to Cas’s pulse point.

“Yes,” Cas said, his voice deep and strained.

Dean tangled his fingers in Cas’s hair and bent down to put his mouth on Cas’s skin. Cas tilted his head to the side and back against the stall in response, baring his neck for Dean. Dean sucked gently and then harder, then parted his lips slightly and bit down. He pulled at the skin. Cas sucked in a breath.

“You okay?” Dean asked, lifting his head so he could look in Cas’s eyes.

Cas nodded.

Dean looked down at the mark he’d made. It was red and visible. Good. “Are you still in heat?” Dean breathed.

"No," Cas said, looking down. "Come on. Let's go."

Dean pulled away from Cas and shook his head. Cas shoved off from the wall and made his way to the horses. He untied them both swiftly and handed one set of reins to Dean.

They led their horses down from the stables, around the outskirts of the imposing stone buildings, to the merchant area of the city. It was already beginning to bustle; the sun was just peeking over the horizon. Dean and Cas picked their way around the populated area, keeping their heads down as they headed for the docks. Cas kept a wary eye out for this Joshua they were supposed to meet.

They were nearing the edge by the time they finally found him, stooped over his herbs and fruits away from everybody else. He looked up as Cas pointed him out to Dean, and he smiled as they approached. He had dark skin and balding, whitish hair. He looked kind.

“Castiel,” he said quietly. “I’ve been waiting for you.” Cas gave him a confused look and Joshua tapped his freckled brown nose conspiratorially. “Metatron told me.” He bent below the table holding his wares and emerged again with two fistfuls of gold.

Dean gave his black horse an affectionate pat. “See ya,” he said under his breath. Cas handed Joshua the reins and Joshua handed him the gold. 

“I sure do miss tending your gardens,” Joshua said as Cas and Dean turned to go. 

Cas gave a small little smile, one of the few genuine ones Dean had ever seen. “I’m sure the gardens miss you too,” he said. And then they were headed for the boats, hands free and pockets heavy with gold.

There was one ship docked on the wide river. A midsized one, Dean thought. He didn’t know shit about ships. He was just hoping the wood wouldn’t crack beneath his feet as he boarded and cause him to drown. There was a thin brunette standing on the bow, or the stern, or whatever, and Dean and Cas headed up the gangway toward her.

“Tessa?” Dean asked as they approached. The woman turned around and looked up at them.

“Who are you?” she asked. Not rude, exactly, but like she was in charge. She probably was, come to think of it. 

“I’m Dean,” Dean said, turning on the charm. He slung an arm good-naturedly around Cas’s shoulders, pulling him forward like he would to introduce a girlfriend at home. If he ever had one. “This is Cas,” he said, still smiling.

Tessa looked them both over.

Cas held up a gold coin. “How much for passage to Rexford?”   
…

The trip wasn’t going to be long. Three days at the most. Dean was glad for it. He’d already thrown up twice, and it was only nearing night of their first day on board. They were no cabins to spare, so Dean and Cas were to share a bed in the crew’s quarters. 

Sharing a bed. It was probably for the best, since Cas told him he could tell just from smell that the small crew had more than its share of alphas (including Tessa, Dean was interested to learn). Not that Dean thought the alphas wouldn’t be able to control themselves around Cas or anything, but… It was better this way. If Crowley was standard for an alpha, he didn’t want to take any chances. So it was good. He kept telling himself that all day, trying not to get in his head about sharing a mattress with the guy he was gonna have sex with 24 hours ago. And now.. well… wasn’t. 

He got Tessa to show him around a bit during the day. He couldn’t stand not knowing how the boat worked, since it was the only thing between him and a watery grave. Tessa was surprisingly accommodating. She was pretty busy, but she seemed to have taken a liking to Dean. And Cas, since Dean dragged Cas with him everywhere he went. Sometimes even by the hand. Well.. Cas did say they should act like a couple. Just.. not too much, Dean supposed. Dean tried to focus on the cool river air, and not so much on the bite mark he could still see on Cas’s neck above his collar.

That night, as they settled into bed together, they were quiet. The cabin bustled around them as the crew members came and went, and though it eventually settled down, Cas and Dean didn’t. 

“Cas?” Dean whispered in the dark.

Cas turned in bed to look at Dean.

“I’m uh… sorry about all the shit that went down yesterday.”

Cas frowned, but it wasn’t his usual frown. It was softer.

“Some homecoming, huh,” Dean said sympathetically. 

Cas gave a wry laugh. “It hasn’t felt like home for a long time,” he said. “And now that my father is dead…” he trailed off.

“I get it,” Dean said. His voice turned gruff. “I mean, I never really had a home but… even less so after my dad died.”

Dean looked up at the ceiling. He could feel Cas’s eyes on him, so he closed them instead. He felt Cas turn back over to look up at the ceiling as well. 

“Thank you,” Cas whispered, and he skimmed the back of his hand up against Dean’s under the covers.

…

The next morning, Dean awoke with a particularly violent pitch of the ship to find that Cas had rolled up against him sometime in the night. Dean laid on his stomach, appreciating the warmth of Cas’s body on his side, Cas’s arm slung over his back like it had always been there. Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this warm.  
…  
Dean decided that today was going to be a fun day. He swapped jokes with the crew all morning trying to get Cas to crack a smile. It didn’t work, but he thought Cas’s eyes looked a little less tired and frowny. Midway through the day, after some rousing manual labor learning how to crew a ship, Dean found himself lounging around in bed next to Cas, finally having The Talk.

No wait. Not that one. The one Dean had been dying to get to since his first day in this alternate world: Dean had finally asked Cas about self-lubricating assholes. Now that there was no way Cas could leave if he got embarrassed.

They grinned as they swapped stories and whispered like schoolboys whenever someone passed by the now-abandoned sleeping quarters. 

“Well. I understand the basics,” Dean was saying. He was trying to figure out how to talk about this without making comparisons to cats in heat and such. Somehow he thought that comparing an entire species to animals wouldn't go over well.

“Then I don’t understand what you want me to explain,” Cas said, shaking his head.

“Well… how does it feel?” Dean asked enthusiastically. 

Cas paused with his mouth open. “I don't know, Dean,” Cas said in exasperation. “I have never had sex.”

Dean sat up like a bullet. “What?” he exclaimed, his eyes wide. “No way.”

“Yes,” Cas said seriously. “I am a virgin.”

Dean was dumbfounded. “But why,” he said, gesturing futilely. “You're so…”

“What, knowledgeable? Clearly not,” Cas said dryly.

"Uh no,” Dean said, almost blushing. “I was gonna say... hot.”

“Hot?” Cas replied. “Is that something that happens to your species when you are sexually excited? Is that why your face is often red?"

"WHAT?! No," Dean spluttered, his face, predictably, turning very red. "Hot is slang, Cas, it means attractive."

"Oh. Thank you." Cas looked much too pleased with himself at the turn of this conversation. 

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you,” Dean said, his eyes narrowed shrewdly. 

Cas smiled wider.

Dean groaned. “Blow me, Cas.”

“Now what is that slang for?”

Dean froze for a second and then burst into laughter, bending over at the waist and reaching out a hand to lay on Cas’s shoulder as he shook with the force of his sudden joy. 

He looked up, grinning, and was surprised to see that Cas was laughing too, his smiled stretched wide to show his gums, his nose pinched and his head thrown back. It was beautiful. It was worth it.

…

When they finally stepped off the ship in Rexford, Dean was feeling good. They only had a sister to find in an unfamiliar city and war to end, but at least they were on solid ground again. 

Dean and Cas weaved through the merchants around the dock together, Dean with his arm around Cas protectively. Cas didn’t seem to like crowds much. Dean could guess that he hadn’t been around them since before he’d presented as omega as a kid. He supposed that would make it hard to navigate.

They bought bread and meat to eat at a stall and walked as they ate. Finding Hannah was first priority. Metatron told them she’d been auctioned off like Cas. A beta, but a female. Meant to be a wife and mother. 

She’d been sold to an angel named Bartholomew, one Cas assured Dean was a bag of dicks. Well, not in so many words, but Dean could read between the lines. Bartholomew had been a leader of his own faction until they gave him Hannah. He’d fallen in line after that. 

Dean and Cas could only hope that they hadn’t solemnized the marriage yet. Cas was adamant that Bartholomew would never see the throne. 

They were expecting the worst, so when they arrived at Bartholomew’s castle, they were relieved to find nothing out of the ordinary. A guard let them in when Cas announced himself as a Prince of the High Court. Apparently, they hadn’t got the news of his traitorous nature yet. They’d have to make sure to skedaddle before they did.

A messenger went to announce their presence to the Lord of the house and Lady Hannah while they waited in the Entrance Hall. They’d got there just before dinner (Dean thanked all the gods whose names he knew for that, he hadn’t had a good meal in ages) and Hannah sent word that she’d meet them in the private banquet hall in moments.

They were led in to wait, and informed that the lord of the house would not be joining them due to illness, but that his betrothed would be down to host them any moment. Cas had to fight to keep the relief off his face at hearing that. Dean asked in a worried whisper whether Cas thought Bart had the black plague.

When the doors to the hall opened and a dark-haired woman swept inside, Cas lit up. He and Dean stood as she made her way to the table.

“Brother,” she said, embracing Cas. She eyed the bite mark still prominent on his neck and then turned to Dean warmly. “And who’s this?” she asked, smiling at Cas.

“This is my… Dean,” Cas said awkwardly.

“Well it’s a pleasure to meet you, Dean,” Hannah said, taking a seat across the table from them. “Please, sit,” she gestured politely, and they sat.

Dean couldn’t get a good read on Hannah. She reminded him of Cas in a lot of ways. In that way, specifically. She was also regal like Cas, and closed-off as well. And they had similar striking blue eyes and the same thick black hair, though Hannah’s looked like she actually put a brush to it once in a while.

Cas and Hannah spent most of the meal catching up. Cas seemed happy with Hannah. Like he cared for her a great deal. But a little uncomfortable too. Like he didn’t really know her that well. Dean, for his part, just tried to be charming enough that he could focus on the meal in front of him without seeming rude. Normally he wasn’t the biggest fan of fish, but this was the best meal he’d had literally in this universe. He almost told Hannah so, but he wanted Cas to do the lead-in on the whole from-another-world-chosen-one thing.

He had to wait until after dinner before Cas got to it though. Hannah led them to a sitting room upstairs and they sat by a fire. She told them that she couldn’t marry her betrothed because Bartholomew had ‘mysteriously’ taken ill, and Cas told her that he couldn’t get married to his betrothed because he hit him over the head with the butt of a dagger and ran away. After that, it sort of just came naturally.

Cas explained Lucifer and Zachariah’s plot, and they’re journey to Metatron, and finally Metatron’s revelation that she was to sit on the throne.

Hannah laughed. “Me?” she said. She didn’t seem to believe it. “I’m not eligible,”

“Well, obviously the prophet disagrees,” Dean said, frowning. 

“It is an archaic rule,” Cas agreed, looking to Hannah with earnest puppy-dog eyes. “Alphas are no more fit to rule than any other designation. Look where they’ve gotten us.”

Hannah had to concede to that. But she still didn’t look convinced. 

“Hannah. He’s the Righteous Man,” Cas said. “He can help us end this.” 

Hannah turned to Dean. “You think I should be king because it’s your destiny?” she scoffed.

“Look lady, I don’t give a rat’s ass about this destiny crap,” Dean said. “I’m gonna do what I gotta do. Everybody else can bite me.”

Hannah looked taken aback for a bit. And then she settled and considered it.

“I’m a traitor now. To all angels,” Cas said. “But you’re not. You’re our only hope.”  
…

After a while, Dean retired to bed while Cas and Hannah stayed up to talk about the future and their plans. Later that night, Dean woke to see Cas creeping in to the bedroom. He was surprised that Cas was here, when there were so many beds available in the empty castle, but he didn’t question it. He just let Cas pull him into his arms and went back to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> non-explicit sex at the end of this chapter.

On the morning that the trio gathered to put their plan in action, nerves were frayed. They’d gone over the plan multiple times, but Cas still turned to Dean and reminded him one last time not to kill anyone if he could help it.

“I may be bad, Cas, but I’m not an idiot,” Dean said.

“Maybe,” Cas replied, frowning as he knelt in the dirt of the forest near the castle and worked to replicate the sigil Inias had drawn to get them to Heaven before.

Hannah huffed impatiently at their bickering, her own blade preemptively drawn as she waited to go claim her rightful place as the ruler of angels. 

And then the sigil was done and Cas was standing, blade poised over the still-healing cut on his hand once more. “Ready?” he asked, looking at Hannah.

Hannah nodded. So did Dean. 

Cas cut his hand and squeezed, letting the blood fall into the circle. And then, the circle glowed blue, and they stepped inside.

This time, after the wind tunnel, Dean opened his eyes to see that he was standing at the front gates of Heaven. This time, they needed to be seen. Dean looked around the unfamiliar area, blinking in the sunlight glinting off the golden gate. This was the royal part of the city, the fancy façade rather than the hardy stone prison area. Dean’s eyes grew wide. The palace was huge, and imposing, and gaudy. This was the castle Dean had been expecting when they first arrived in Heaven. All gilded glory, everything shiny. The pure ostentation alone was threatening to blind him. 

“Who goes there!” a guard suddenly shouted and Castiel turned to address him.

“We mean you no harm,” Castiel called calmly. “It is I, Prince Castiel. I am the Fallen Angel. As it has been written, I have brought the Righteous Man, the Ender of Wars. And the Rightful Ruler of Heaven, my sister, Hannah. Let us in. We do not wish to hurt you.”

Even from here, Dean could hear the frantic whispers of guards on the other side of the gate. And then he heard Inias’s voice.

“It is true,” Inias said, addressing the gathered people. “It’s the prophecy!” he called. “If we do not obey him we will fall into ruin! Let them in!”

And with that, a guard opened the gate and Inias welcomed them through. The other guards stood and watched with trepidation as Inias hugged Castiel, and then Hannah in turn. Dean stood off to the side awkwardly as the gate closed behind him. 

Dean cleared his throat and looked around. “I am the Righteous Man,” he began. Cas had gone over this speech with him just before they left. “I am he who will lead you to paradise.” He just barely managed not to cringe. “I do not share your senses, but I can read your hearts. Gather around me and see that I am not of your world.”

He held his hands out and the guards stepped up to him. One by one, they smelled him and touched his hands in awe. 

“It’s true,” they were saying, and the message was already spreading. “He has no scent!” “It’s the Righteous Man!”

Dean strode up to the castle and they let him pass, staring in awe. Cas and Hannah followed close behind. They headed through the castle with no opposition. They were going to the throne room, where they expected to meet Zachariah at least—Raphael, or Michael if they were unlucky.

The wound their way quietly through the gilded halls, the servants and guests stopping to watch them. Somehow the news of their presence had already spread throughout the castle, preceding them. They made it to the throne room without incident. It was better than they could have hoped.

When they burst through the doors, it was to find Zachariah sitting on the throne, three guards standing around him. They looked up when the trio entered.

“What are you wating for,” Zachariah yelled. “Seize them!”

The guards moved on the trio, but the three fanned out and each took a guard. Hannah had her guard on the ground in seconds. Dean managed to get his in a chokehold, and Cas had his on his knees, silver dagger at his throat.

Zachariah was livid. Servants, guests, and guards watched from outside the doors, pushing their way into the room but staying back, out of the way. 

“You traitor,” Zachariah spat, sneering at Castiel as he walked toward him, pulling his own silver dagger into his hand as he went. “You little bitch. Couldn’t get enough of me last time you were here, could you. This time I won’t be so gentle.”

Dean and Cas locked eyes across the room. “Him you can kill,” Cas said. Dean wondered, not for the first time, what had happened to Cas while Dean waited in the stables. 

As the guard in Dean’s arms had now passed out, Dean laid him down and stalked toward Zach.

Zachariah snarled and charged to meet him. Dean parried his thrust easily, and saw Cas haul his guard to his feet and push him toward the crowd. Cas circled around behind Zachariah, with his own snarl now to match. Zachariah continued to fight, stupidly, Dean thought. He was both outnumbered and outmatched. He lunged at Dean and the two traded blows. Zachariah backed him up against the wall and managed to disarm him, but Dean ducked quickly out of the way of any damage. And then Cas was right there to disarm Zachariah in turn. Zachariah fought him off desperately and stumbled backwards, picking up Dean’s dagger from the floor and slashing at Cas wildly. Cas parried his blows and managed to get him off his footing and then Dean was there, shoving Zachariah’s own discarded silver blade through his throat in the middle of the throne room.

As Zachariah’s body slid to the floor, Dean turned around to see the crowd staring at him in shocked silence. And then a short figure pushed his way through the crowd and stood before him. 

“The Righteous Man,” Metatron said, beaming. He turned around to address the crowd. “Behold, the Righteous Man,” he called out. The crowd broke out in cheers. Apparently, Zachariah was not well-liked. “And your Ruler!” Metatron added over the yells of the crowd.

In response, Hannah stepped up onto the platform and sat on the vacant throne. The crowd went wild. Cas sank into the background and Dean went with him. Together they watched as Metatron unsheathed his own dagger and scratched a sigil into his own throat. When he next spoke, his voice boomed out into the crowd.

“My friends, my family,” he said. “All angels far and wide who can hear the sound of my voice. It is I, the prophet Metatron. Hear me.”

“How is he doing that?” Dean whispered to Cas.

“It’s a spell,” Cas replied. “He’s talking to us in our minds.”

Dean shook his head in disbelief.

Metatron continued. “The Rite of Prophecy chose the Princess Hannah as our new ruler. There were those of our number who wanted to seize power for themselves. Who kept that knowledge from you and who kept the chosen from her throne. Those angels have been thwarted by the Righteous Man. Let this be a warning to you. The Wicked who oppose him shall fall into ruin. Those that do not obey, will be vanquished. There are many who want to usurp the Throne of Heaven. But none of them were chosen; there was one who was. All Hail King Hannah, Ruler of Heaven, Keeper of the Holy of Holies, Sovereign of the Throne of Glory, Her Grace of Araboth, who holds the clouds in her hands. Praise her!”

“Praise her!” The crowd repeated with vigor.

…

Hannah gave Dean and Cas rooms in the west wing of the castle. They were plenty available, as there really were very few people around. That would change soon. It was all very exciting.

That night they ate and celebrated. Hannah was mostly busy entertaining guests; her Kingly duties had already begun. Dean and Cas stayed in the background, talking quietly with smiles on their faces, tired but relieved. After dinner, Dean and Cas retired upstairs together. They’d gotten so used to being around each other all the time, it was a little disorienting for Dean when Cas didn’t follow him right into his room. Instead, Cas hovered at the door, unsure whether to say goodnight now, or to stay awhile longer. 

Dean placed his arm around Cas’s elbow and tugged him inside. He reached around Cas and closed the door behind him, and then led the way into the room. Then he stepped to the side and gestured to the center of the room, a big smile on his face.

Cas’s face broke into a smile too when he saw what was there. A big tub, big enough for two, filled with hot steaming water.

“I thought, maybe we could take a bath,” Dean said shyly. And then, jokingly: “I don’t know about you, but I haven’t bathed in weeks.”

Cas honest to god giggled, and slipped his shoes off immediately. He pulled his shirt over his head and was wriggling out of his pants by the time Dean had pulled off his boots. Dean looked up to see Cas fully naked and looking back at him, a soft smile dancing on his lips. “Thank you Dean,” he said.

“Its nothin’, Cas,” Dean said, pulling his shirt off as Cas stepped into the bath. “Perks of being the Righteous Man.” He watched Cas sink down into the water with a sigh as he put a thumb under his waistband and tugged his own pants down. He kicked them to the side and then joined Cas in the bath.

“I don’t know..” Cas said as Dean settled into the other side of the tub.

“I think we earned it.” Dean said, taken aback.

“No, not that. You definitely earned it,” he said. “I mean, I don’t get why I was in the prophecy. I’m still not fallen.”

“What does it mean to be fallen?” Dean asked.

“Banished,” Cas answered, frowning. “You don’t think Hannah’s going to banish me, do you?”

“I’m sure she won’t,” Dean replied. When Cas continued to frown, Dean lifted a dripping arm out of the water to reach over and touch a playful knuckle to Cas’s cheek. “Why don’t you just relax for once?” he whispered.

“I think I’d like that,” Cas replied.  
…

They stayed in the water a long time. They mostly kept to themselves, still unsure of each other. There wasn’t much room though, and after taking turns scrubbing each other’s backs with the clean rags the servants left for them, they stretched out next to each other, not caring where their skin touched and where it didn’t. Well, Dean cared a little. As in he wanted to be touching Cas everywhere. But this Cas was not the hungry Cas he almost had sex with days ago. This Cas was slow and patient and curious and Dean wanted to match him. Dean just wanted to be with him. He’d never felt anything quite like that before.

So when the water began to turn cold, Dean sighed and stood, thinking he deserved an early bedtime after being on the run for a week and winning a war in a day. He turned and bent over to grab a towel off to the side and then dried his face and hair before pulling the towel around his shoulders. When he turned back and looked at Cas, he was surprised to see Cas staring at him, mouth slack and eyes hooded. 

Maybe he was a little hungry.

Dean reached back over to grab a second towel for Cas. This time he slowed the movement down, letting Cas look at his body again. He straightened up and handed Cas the towel, and this time, Cas was licking his lips.

He was definitely hungry.

Dean stepped out of the tub, rubbing the towel down his chest, his navel, his thighs. He didn’t dare look, but he hoped Cas was tracking the movement. He turned his back to Cas and bent to run the towel down each of his legs in turn. He heard a sharp intake of breath behind him and turned to look.

“Sorry,” Cas whispered. He dragged his gaze up to Dean’s eyes. “You’re very… interesting.”

“It’s okay,” Dean said, holding his hand out to help Cas out of the bath. Cas stepped out and began to dry off as well. Dean threw his towel to the side and then took a step closer.

“It’s okay that you’re interested in me,” he said. “I’m interested in you too.” He took another step. Cas looked up, his gaze locked on Dean’s. 

Cas took a breath. “Kiss me,” he said, and Dean did. Dean closed the distance like it was nothing, like it had never been there. He put a hand on Cas’s jaw and pulled him in, letting him surge up press against Dean’s mouth desperately. Dean opened his mouth and tilted his head, pressing himself up against Cas. Cas shuddered.

“Bed,” he murmured against Dean’s jaw. Dean obeyed, pulling Cas back toward the bed with little kisses to his neck. He kissed and kissed over the red bite mark that was fading now, almost gone. He scraped his teeth over it, mouth open and breath hot. Cas made a sound. Dean bit down. Cas moaned.

Dean sucked at Cas’s skin as his hands traveled down Cas’s body, down his strong back and around the swell of his ass. Dean could feel Cas’s slick on his hands. He backed away and nodded to the bed. Cas clambered onto the bed, laying down on his back near the thick white pillows at the top.

Dean stood back for a second, appreciating Cas’s tan expanse of skin and thick thighs, his bare chest and stomach exposed for Dean to see, his nakedness and vulnerability. And then Dean climbed after him, leaning over him on his knees. He jacked himself a few times with the slick still on his fingers, and then he put a hand on Cas’s thigh, moved it slowly up to rest in the bend of his leg. 

“Is this okay?” he asked.

Cas nodded.

Dean moved closer, placing a kiss on the inside of Cas’s knee. “No ‘thinking’ it’s okay,” Dean said, catching Cas’s eye again. “I need you to know.”

“I know,” Cas whispered, pulling Dean down to catch him in a kiss.  
…  
Dean and Cas laid in bed together, after, Cas’s head on Dean’s chest and Dean’s hand stroking Cas’s hair sweetly. 

“Dean,” Cas said eventually, raising his head to look at him. “What now?”

“I don’t know Cas,” Dean said, “what do you mean?”

“I mean.. you’re not going to stay here, are you?” Cas said, a sad smile on his full lips.

Dean pulled back and looked at him, frowning. He sighed and rested his head back on the pillow. “Not if I can find a way to get home, no.”

Cas sighed. “Why not?” he said, gently resting his head back on Dean’s chest. “Do you have someone there?”

“Just my little brother,” Dean said, stroking Cas’s hair again. “There’s no one else.”

“Does he need you?” Cas asked, his voice small and thin.

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean replied sadly. “He needs me.”

He thought about it for a second and then went on. “And I need him. More than that, I need to fix things with him. I need to make sure he’s safe.”

“I guess it would be naïve of me to think you don’t have your own wars back on your world. Your own versions of Lucifer and Crowley.”

“Yeah,” Dean said softly.

“You’re certainly no farmer,” Cas said, smiling to himself. “I’ve seen you wield a dagger.”

“I’ve had my fair share of trouble,” Dean said. “And I dragged Sam into trouble too. That’s the problem.”

“Sam,” Cas said thoughtfully. “Why don’t you tell me about him?” He pressed his face sleepily against Dean’s bare chest.

“Sam’s a Brainiac,” Dean said, chuckling. “A real book worm. You’d love him. Smartest kid I ever met. And the smelliest probably, but that’s probably just the… manual labor…” Dean blinked and stared up at the ceiling. “The things we do to get by, Cas,” he said. “Sam never wanted to do it. Always had a heart for puppies and lost little birds and a head for books and… he always wanted out of the life. And he got out. Went to Stanford. You don’t know what that is, but it’s… impressive. We should have been proud of him, but we… We all resented him for it. Hell, I didn't speak to him for years. And now he's back in... he's IN all right. In over his head. He’s living with this girl… This Ruby chick, Cas, she's somethin' else. Honestly these days I'd officiate his damn wedding if he settled down with some goody two shoes. As long as it's not Ruby. He wanted out of the life... but she's a lifer if I ever saw one.”

Cas stroked Dean’s arm comfortingly. 

“I don't know what she did to get his trust,” Dean said. And then he faltered. “Well… It's a long story but.. my family, sometimes I’m not real sure we’re good people. We’re involved in some shit. With the mafia. You don’t know what that is, but it’s bad. It’s real bad, Cas. Dad left us to fend for ourselves and he left me to fend for Sammy and I couldn’t do it. Sammy’s in some bad stuff, man. He’s been going off the rails on a crazy train for a while now and anyway, Ruby was there when everything was falling apart. I get it, but I don't get it.” He sighed, frustrated just talking about it. “Maybe it's just prejudice,” Dean said. “I can admit it's a possibility. But I just have a bad feeling about this. I gotta get back to him. I gotta fix things.” 

Cas took that all in thoughtfully. He kissed Dean’s shoulder gently and then laid his head back down and closed his eyes. And then his eyes snapped open. “Metatron,” he said, eyes wide. He sat up and looked at Dean. “He might know how to get you back.”

Dean stared back at him.  
“Son of a bitch.”  
…


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> non-explicit sex somewhere in the middle. It's v short.

The next morning, after dressing in freshly laundered clothes brought in by servants and going down to the banquet hall to eat, Dean and Cas went together to seek out Metatron. Metatron was still asleep. Not in his old prison of a study, but in a new room in the palace proper. They knocked and waited outside the door, tense and excited. When it finally opened to reveal a disheveled Metatron in his same old velvet housecoat, they pushed their way inside and waited for Metatron to close the door and join them.

“I assume you know why we’re here,” Dean said.

“I have a shrewd guess,” Metatron said, irritated. “You want me to send you home.”

“Not bad for a prophet,” Dean said, smiling.

“Well I can’t,” Metatron said. Dean’s smile slipped. “But he can,” Metatron said, pointing at Cas. Dean turned to Cas to see he was just as confused as he felt.

“What are you talking about?” Cas said.

“Oh, you didn’t know?” Metatron mocked. “You’re the one that brought him here.” Metatron went over to the sideboard and grabbed a piece of toast.

“No, I didn’t know,” Cas said.

“How about you explain it,” Dean said.

“Oh use your brain, Castiel,” Metatron said. “You went down to the river to cast a spell to speak to your father from the beyond.”

Dean looked at Cas. “The River in the Valley of Hunnam or whatever?” he asked.

“I wanted to ask him who was supposed to be king,” Cas said, bewildered.

“That’s where I was found,” Dean said. He and Cas looked at each other. Cas looked horrified. 

“I’m sorry Dean,” he said, “I didn’t know.”

“No, you didn’t. But he did.” Dean rounded on Metatron. “You knew this whole time, didn’t you. And you didn’t tell me?”

“Oh, don’t be angry, Dean,” Metatron scoffed. “I just needed you to do a little something for me first. You don’t regret uniting a nation, do you? Saving a people from destruction?”

“Eat a dick, Metatron,” Dean said, storming out.  
…

Cas caught up with Dean a little ways down the hallway.

“I am truly sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know.”

“I don’t blame you Cas,” Dean said. “I mean, it’s okay. Actually, I’d probably be dead and stuck up some tree by now if it weren’t for you.”

“Stuck up a tree?” Cas asked, titling his head adorably.

“Yeah, dude,” Dean said. “Alistair is one sick fuck. Who knows what he’d’ve done to me.”

“Oh,” Cas said, frowning.

“Cas, man,” Dean said, stopping. “You saved me.”  
“No, Dean,” said Cas. “You’ve got that backwards. You saved me.”  
…

Dean and Cas spent the rest of the day gathering the ingredients for the spell. That night, they made love slow and quiet in their bed. Like it was the last time, like the moment was fragile, like they were committing each plane and muscle of each other’s bodies to memory. Like they were worshipping each other.

Dean was reminded of the moment he first saw Cas on his knees, defeated in that clearing what seemed like months ago. He’d looked like he was praying as he mourned.

He looked like he was praying now, laid out on his knees before Dean, looking skyward, his head resting on Dean’s shoulder as he called out, open-mouthed, face awash with light from the candle beside their bed.

Dean held Cas’s body to him with a hand to his chest as he thrust up into him from behind again and again until he was crying out. And then he just held him there, his arms pulled tight around him, his lips pressed closed against the bite mark he wished he could give him over and over.

Dean’s arms were still tight around Cas long after Cas seemed to be asleep. Dean pressed his face into Cas’s shoulder from behind. “Come with me,” Dean whispered. He nuzzled Cas’s neck and pressed a kiss to his ear. “I know I got no fuckin’ right to ask you this.” He kissed him again. “Cas, I know.” He breathed in the scent of Cas, shutting his eyes tight like he was a child making a wish. “Come with me.”  
…

The next morning they rolled out of bed unwillingly. It was going to be a hard day. Truth be told, Dean would have left without saying goodbye if he could. But he couldn’t really do that when he needed Cas to do the spell to send him back.

They were both sitting silently on the bed when suddenly Cas spoke.

“You said you wanted me to come with you,” Cas said. “I want to come with you.”

Dean’s heart jumped. And then it sank.

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Dean said. “I mean, is that how it’s going to be? I don’t live a good life, Cas. You'll always be sacrificing for me.”  
“I'll always want to,” Cas cut in, shrugging.

They debated it on and off during breakfast. The conversation would go from “This toast is burnt,” to “You’ll never see your family again.” Like it was some sort of pendulum.

Cas had an answer to everything. Dean would say “You won’t fit in there” and Cas would say “I’ve never fit in anyway,” like he’d been up all night thinking of just the sort of replies he could fire off at will. Dean thought actually maybe he had. But he didn’t really get it until the last question he asked.

“You’ll never had kids of your own,” he said as he pushed his empty plate away.

“I never wanted kids,” Cas said.

“You don’t?” Dean asked.

Cas faltered. “That’s a lie,” he admitted. He sighed. “A part of me has always wanted kids,” he said. “But I don’t.. I don’t want to HAVE them.” He looked up at Dean earnestly. “I’ve never wanted my own kids. I don’t think I could do it. I need control over my body.” He looked at Dean very seriously. “I don’t need to be omega. I don’t want it.”

Dean stared at him. “But what if you change your mind,” he said.

“Then I deal with that when it comes,” Cas said. “Dean. It’s my choice. And I’d rather have you.”

Dean looked away sadly. “But what if you change your mind,” he whispered.

Cas skimmed the back of Dean’s hand under the table. “I don’t think I will,” Cas said, smiling.  
Dean looked up at him. 

“Tell me you know,” he said.

“I know.”

...

Epilogue:

Years later, Dean and Cas have made a home for themselves in Lebanon, Kansas. Sam lives in Lawrence with a girl named Eileen, and they visit often. They’re out of the life, and it’s different, and they may never really fit in in the suburbs, but they all have a home. And they have each other.

So when things have settled down, and Cas has stopped staring open-mouthed at every car and airplane, and Dean and Cas have gotten married and have real jobs and everything, Dean and Cast adopt a kid. A little girl named Claire. 

And when she asks Cas to make up bedtime stories he just tells her their tale: About how Dean rescued him from the evil king and gave him his freedom--and how with that free will, he chose Dean. Every time, he ends the story not with 'happily ever after' but with a tender 'and that's how your father saved me.'

And every time, Dean pipes up from the doorway of their little girl's bedroom, "no Cas, you got that backwards. You saved me." And then he goes over to give his little girl her kisses and says "you save me too, angelface." And she pouts at him like the little grump she is every time, but she loves it. 

And Cas never does change his mind.


End file.
